


the war machine keeps turning

by thisisaboutnotbeinginclass



Category: Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Crossover, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Past Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisaboutnotbeinginclass/pseuds/thisisaboutnotbeinginclass
Summary: The Avengers discover a HYDRA base on US soil, and while dismantling it, they rescue two brothers. In the aftermath, tensions are high and secrets are revealed.NOTE: This work has been abandoned, and will not be finished.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after the end of Season 7 of Supernatural, after Dean returns from Purgatory, but doesn't follow Season 8 canon at all. 
> 
> I started this fic after Captain America: Winter Soldier, back in the days when we thought Bucky would move into the Tower and the Avengers would be one big family, or at least a functional team (oh how wrong we were...). Needless to say, it was Jossed before I could really get it off the ground. Enjoy!

The call to assemble woke Bucky at midnight from a restless sleep. He sat there, heartbeat pounding in his ears, while Stark’s AI informed him of the time and date, that he was in the guest room of Steve’s apartment in Avengers Tower, and his presence was requested a few floors above. 

Without hesitation, Bucky pushed himself up off the floor. He’d been sleeping sitting upright in the corner, resting against the wall. The bed was right there, but some nights it was just too soft, he couldn’t bear it. 

He got dressed in the dark, collected his boots, and headed out.

Clint was in the elevator.

“Any idea what this is about?” Bucky asked quietly.

“Nope, no clue,” Clint said, glancing at Bucky. He was wearing his boots, but carrying his bracers and upper body armour.

Bucky shook out his shoulders, stretched his neck. “As long as it’s not more portals. I’m gonna knock Reed’s block off if he fucks up like that again.” The portal event two months ago had made all of them far more sympathetic to Tony’s hatred of Reed Richards and his experiments. Not that Tony could really talk, when it came to following scientific safety procedures.

Clint snorted. “I think you’d have to fight Tony for the privilege.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, and Clint acknowledged, “I’m aware it’s a fight you’d win. Try to warn me in advance so I can bring popcorn.”

“To which fight?”

“Both of them,” Clint shrugged. 

The elevator stopped at the lab floor and collected Bruce, and then Jarvis let them know the others were gathered in the briefing room that sat just off the jet hangar. Bucky suspected it meant they were going somewhere. 

Steve, Tony and Natasha were already there, and Steve and Nat were huddled around the monitor that controlled the display behind them. 

“Is this about Richards again?” Clint asked as he strolled into the room. “Because I’m starting to think we should bill him.” Tony snorted. 

“No, it’s not Richards,” Steve said, distracted by whatever Natasha was showing him on the monitor.

Clint raised an eyebrow at Bucky - Richards would live to see another day. Bucky took in the set of Steve’s shoulders - tense, very tense - and the way his mouth was a grim line. Steve was very unhappy about whatever this was. Bucky mentally braced himself, ready to back him up in whatever they needed to do.

They didn’t seem ready to start yet, and they were still waiting on Wilson, so Bucky sat in a chair at the back of the room to pull on his boots. He also re-buckled his jacket to make it sit better, then stood and rejoined the others. Sam arrived and stood beside him with a calm, friendly “hey”, but didn’t push when Bucky didn’t want to talk. Conversation whirled around him as he flexed his hand and tested his freedom of movement, to make sure nothing was restricting his arm.

Then Steve called for their attention.

“We’re going to make this quick, we don’t have much time,” he said. “Natasha has received some information from a key source inside the NSA, and we need to act on this as soon as possible.”

Natasha had plugged a computer into the media setup. The projector soon illuminated, and flicked to an aerial photograph of a cluster of buildings, warehouses, and what looked like an office building. It was all surrounded by a few trees and a parking lot, then a lot of grass, with a road that might even be a highway off to one side. 

“This is the Alliance Meat Animal Research Facility, in north-western Nebraska,” she said. “Owned by Verger Meatpacking, it’s been in operation for almost ten years.”

“About a month ago, the NSA picked up something within the operation’s communications. Their satellites found suspicious activity around the facility overnight, and they notified the feds, who started monitoring it on suspicion of terrorism and illegal weapons manufacturing. They’ve put together enough evidence to warrant a raid, and my source has just told me they’re planning to go in tonight at 3am.”

“What’s our involvement?” Sam asked, frowning. 

Steve looked grave. “Our involvement is HYDRA.”

Bucky didn’t flinch, and kept his gaze steadily on the screen. 

“What I’ve confirmed, independently of the NSA and FBI, is that the funding behind this facility isn’t all Verger anymore,” Natasha explained. “When I initially received the intel, I did some digging, and followed a money trail back to a European account owned by a little known HYDRA front, one of several that they put together after we exposed them three years ago.”

“Key members of Verger’s board of directors are in bed with them, and have been for at least six years. They gave HYDRA this facility, and made sure it would go on producing legitimate research, providing a public front for what goes on outside office hours.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Stark asked.

“According to the intel from the FBI, they’re using this facility to develop explosives, biological and chemical weapons. The FBI isn’t aware of the HYDRA link yet, but they will be.” Natasha paused, then added, “According to my other source, HYDRA might be using this facility to resurrect their asset program.”

She said the words calmly, and it took a second for them to sink in. 

“What the hell do you mean, _resurrect their asset program_?” Stark demanded angrily. Steve looked grim, but let Natasha continue.

“I have a source in HYDRA who recently indicated to me that they’d begun to circulate the idea of creating new assets. There have been certain movements in the highest ranks that make it seem like it’s happening on US soil, and one of my sources has been sending me information about personnel HYDRA’s acquired. Doctors, specialists. They’re getting ready. Another source flagged this facility; it’s extremely unknown even within HYDRA, it’s isolated, and it’s already under HYDRA’s control. It also has more doctors on staff than anyone would need for weapons manufacturing - the kind who, until recently, did not specialise in animal research.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. _Animal research_. Those motherfuckers probably thought they were funny.

He crossed his arms, staying still and silent in the midst of the room’s sudden outbreak of noise and consternation from the others. His stomach twisted, and tension started thrumming in the back of his skull. 

He thought he’d killed them all. 

In those chaotic, confusing days after the helicarriers, after he saw Steve for the first time - for the first time _again_ \- he’d gone hunting for information. When he’d found it, his anger had sent him hunting for something else. 

He’d spent the next two years taking out whole cells of HYDRA agents, blowing up labs and outposts, killing doctors and destroying machinery and erasing data with a single-minded focus and insider knowledge that no-one at SHIELD could’ve matched. It had been revenge, but he’d also wanted to make sure it couldn’t happen again, that what had been done to him couldn’t happen to anyone else.

He’d been fast, merciless, and he thought he’d been thorough. Black Widow’s sources had reported that he’d been successful, that HYDRA was struggling to recover a complete copy of any of their experimentation data; what he’d left them with was fragmented, unusable, and they hadn’t found anyone like Zola who could piece it together. He’d thought it’d force them down other paths, stop them from making anyone else like him. Apparently he’d been wrong.

As he stared at the screen, the conversation was still going on around him. “So call the FBI, we’ll go in with them and put a stop to it,” Stark was saying. 

They exchanged a glance, and Steve said, “It’s a little bit more complicated than that.”

“We need to run this mission undercover,” Natasha said. “This facility is apparently so unknown, even within HYDRA, that if we go in openly and expose it, the source of our information will be immediately obvious and HYDRA will take steps to silence them. With more time, my source can apparently cover their tracks, but with the impending raid, it’s time we don’t have.”

“So what exactly are you proposing?” Sam sounded curious.

“That we get in, destroy whatever they’ve been doing, and get out without anyone knowing we were there,” she replied. At the raised eyebrows around the table, she added, “It’s doable. We’ve managed to get a picture of the size of the operation. A small team, lots of distractions. It’ll be fine.”

Steve stepped in, indicating the display. “They _are_ running a weapons manufacturing program, and that’s what the bulk of staff at the facility are involved in. They’ve been using the aboveground office building and outbuildings, so this is where there’ll be concentrations of law enforcement during the raid.”

“Our target is an additional lab underground,” Natasha added, and flicked to a new slide on the projector. It showed a red outline on the projected image, overlapping with the office building. “The hidden lab is well-camouflaged by the office building, but one of our satellites has managed to find the thermal footprint. There’s at least one, possibly two, underground levels, and this is where the program is operating. It has around twenty staff onsite at any time, and many of them will be distracted by the raid.” 

“The idea is to get in and out of the underground lab without tipping off law enforcement,” Steve said. “The FBI is going in with the ATF, in a joint operation, so there’ll be a lot of agents, SWAT teams, and a lot of overlap in supervisory roles. There should be enough going on that no-one will notice a small team.”

“What if we do make contact?” Sam asked.

“We’ll have the necessary ID to convince anyone that we’re supervised by whoever we’re not talking to at the time,” Steve confirmed. “Unfortunately, the masks have also been repaired since the Amsterdam mission,” he added. 

Sam grimaced. Bucky wasn’t fond of the masks, either. The high-tech fake skin blended with the hairline, adjusted to match skin tone, and altered features enough to fool even the most sophisticated facial recognition. It was the constriction on the face that bothered Bucky, but he could submit to necessity. 

Steve went on, adding, “If we do make contact, we should be long gone before the FBI or ATF work out we weren’t with them. They’ll conclude that we were agents of HYDRA, but HYDRA will know we weren’t. They might eventually work out it was us, but undercover isn’t our usual style, so if we camouflage our presence well enough, they’ll look at their own agents and their other enemies first.”

Stark frowned. “What happens when the FBI finds the sub-basement after we leave?”

“We’ll take a couple of the RXP bombs we confiscated from that lab in Costa Rica,” Natasha said calmly. RXP, or rapidly expanding polyurethane. Bucky had seen it fill a room at the White House in under a minute and set harder than concrete. He wasn’t sure who’d weaponised it, but HYDRA loved it, and it’d been a pain in the ass more than once.

“Stark, we also need a couple of viruses, to take care of the computers and the network, so that if anyone ever does manage to excavate any of it, the data will still be gone. Make sure they don’t have any of your signature code,” she warned.

“Can I ask a question? Why on earth are we _all_ going?” Clint asked with a frown. “I get that destroying HYDRA’s asset program is something we’re all invested in, but this is sounding more and more like a complex stealth mission. Nat could infiltrate in the confusion, in and out, without tipping anyone off, and there’d be less risk of anyone linking it to the Avengers. Why are you briefing all of us?” he asked. 

His question was directed mostly at Steve, and Natasha glanced at him before she answered. 

“Because they might be working on an asset already.”

No-one spoke for a moment, although they all turned as one to stare at her in shock. Bucky didn’t turn, he kept his eyes on the screen. He felt like he’d been turned to stone. 

“We have no confirmation,” Steve said grimly, and his shoulders were stiffly set. He didn’t look at Bucky. “We’re probably just going to go in, set up the virus, bury the lab, then get out again without any fireworks. But there _is_ an outside chance they already have someone down there.”

Bucky felt the whirl of memories - manacles, machinery, the cold chamber, the pain in his shoulder - threatening to drag him down. He fought it, channeling the spike of fear into a very familiar rage. He was going to find whoever was responsible for this facility, pin them down, dig his hand into their chest, and tear their heart right out of their bloodied body. 

His metal hand made a fist that clenched so hard the elbow joints creaked.

“The secrecy surrounding this lab, even within HYDRA, meant my source couldn’t confirm the status of the project,” Natasha added. “We’ve estimated how long they’ve been working with Verger, and we’ve estimated how much equipment they have based on the power and heat signatures. We have no confirmed sightings of anyone other than doctors and guards, so it could be that they’re still putting the program together.”

“However, the worst case scenario is that they’re further along than we expect, and there’s a man or woman in this facility who’s been subjected to HYDRA’s programs,” she added. 

“And then what? Termination?” It was the first time Bucky had spoken since he’d entered the briefing room, and some of the others visibly startled at the sound. They’d forgotten he was there. It happened sometimes. 

Now Steve stared at him, but Bucky stayed still and silent, eyes fixed on the projected image of the compound, and waited for someone to answer his question.

“Possibly,” Steve managed to admit, then added, “Rehabilitation is obviously the preferred option.”

_Oh, obviously_ , Bucky wanted to say, and his voice would have been dripping with sarcasm. He’d only briefly met other assets in HYDRA’s program, but he couldn’t imagine that many of them were functional, or could undergo something as politically correct and pandering as rehabilitation. His own experience was likely to be so different from another asset as to make the idea of rehabilitation _laughable_.

However, he knew the prospect of rehabilitation would probably sit better with Steve. The chance of saving someone usually did.

“The first thing we’d need to do,” Natasha said, “Is try to work out what kind of enhancement has been done. Then, what kind of mind alteration. We’ll make a judgement call, if it comes up.”

“The other thing to take into account,” Steve added, “is that we believe everything the FBI discovers will be handed over not only the US military, but to General Ross in particular.” 

“Wait, what? Why the hell is he involved in this?” Stark asked, surprised.

“The FBI director leading this raid is, in an amazing coincidence, a childhood friend of the General’s,” Natasha explained dryly. “They keep in touch. If he finds anything out of his jurisdiction, there’s a chance he’ll call Ross before he calls us.”

Bucky had heard about General Ross. He’d heard about the Abomination, and Bruce Banner’s escape. He liked Banner, and he knew what it was like to be a puppet. Ross would probably be just like Pierce. 

If necessary, Ross could die, Bucky decided evenly. Even if the mission was successful, maybe it was a good idea, and Bucky could manage it without anyone knowing. It was always helpful to have a plan B. 

“Okay. So. I’m convinced,” Stark was saying. “What’s the play, Cap?”

“Iron Man, I want you to stay here. You and Jarvis need to be our eyes and ears; monitor the satellite feed, tap into the ATF comms, whatever you need to do. Make sure we’re off their radar and warn us if they notice anything. I want you to give me a way to connect you to whatever computer they might have, so you can make sure the data is extracted and you can deliver the viruses.” Stark nodded grimly. “You’re also our back-up plan,” Steve added. “Set up some contingency plans in case things go wrong and we need to be bailed out of somewhere.”

“Banner, we won’t need the Hulk on this, so I want you to work with Tony, and if we find anyone I’ll need you to prepare a medical team.” Banner nodded, looking a little sick. His jaw was squared, though, and he looked determined. 

“Barton, you’ll be in the jet,” Steve went on. “Keep it in stealth mode the whole time, even while it’s landed, and stay the hell inside and out of sight. You need to be ready to cover our escape; guns, not arrows. Nothing distinctive. You’ll have to keep it ready to move, too; we might need to make a quick exit.”

“Wilson, Barnes and Romanoff, we will infiltrate the building, destroy the program and--” Steve hesitated for a bare second, then raised his eyes to meet Bucky’s gaze. “And deal with the asset, if there is one.”

Bucky inclined his head slightly towards Steve. Steve’s mouth was a grim line as he nodded back.


	2. Chapter 2

The jet touched down silently, and Steve waited impatiently for the rear hatch to open. He could feel the mask across his face like an itch; it was supposed to be unnoticeable, but he could always feel it. He could never get used to the way the others looked, either - Sam, Natasha, and Bucky - all their faces were different. It was like walking with strangers.

The night air was cool as he led the team quickly across the grassy field, towards the cover of the trees around the facility. Their dark uniforms - special forces, black with black boots - kept them hidden in the dark.

The office buildings and outbuildings were mostly dark, apart from stairwell lights, hallway lights, and the exterior security lighting. However, at almost 3am, there were more than a dozen cars in the employee parking lot just beyond the trees. There were three mid-size delivery vans parked near the loading dock as well.

Steve checked his watch; it was about two minutes to three. The ATF would move in at any minute. He could see them; there were dark figured hunched in groups at various points through the trees, keeping the facility surrounded and ready to swarm the building as soon as the order was given.

Steve gestured, and the team filed carefully around the corner of the parking lot, making it look to anyone who might be looking at them like they’d come from the SWAT teams on the other side of the facility - like they were part of the operation.

He held up a hand, to signal the team to take position in the trees behind the line of agents, out of immediate line of sight. He knew they wouldn’t have to wait long.

Then with a sudden explosion of movement, huge spotlights flooded the facility as they moved in. Several trucks with sirens came in off the road at the front of the compound; Steve could see the flashing lights through the gap in the buildings. A loudspeaker started up, hailing the buildings with threats and requests for surrender of all illegal items.

Steve signalled again; this was the moment.

The agents near them had cleared the parking lot, and most had disappeared into the warehouses, or into the office building through a set of double doors off to one side of the loading dock. Gunfire and sounds of fighting began to filter through the night, as HYDRA staff refused to take their arrests lying down.

A team of six ATF agents remained in the parking lot, and Steve gestured for the other Avengers to move forwards.

They’d had just reached the edge of the lot, and Steve was beginning their approach through the cars towards the agents, when out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement on the loading dock.

He gestured, and the team took cover. He frowned at the dock. Whatever had moved was now still. What had he seen? The ATF agents didn’t seem to have noticed anything.

Then out of nowhere, six projectiles - not bullets, something else - came whizzing through the air. They curved towards the ATF agents, and before Steve could warn them, they struck. Each agent collapsed with a groan.

Steve was about to break cover, to check whether they were dead or unconscious, when the loading dock’s roller door opened, rattling loudly. Three FBI agents came out, checking the area cautiously.

Frowning, Steve gestured for the others to stay put. He wanted to see what these agents were doing.

It turned out they were the scouts; they gestured back inside, apparently confident that the parking lot was clear, and four HYDRA soldiers came out, surrounding and dragging another man between them. The first men had gone to one of the mid-size trucks in the parking lot and opened the back, and that was when Steve noticed the black fatigues under their FBI slickers - HYDRA soldiers. They were clearly preparing to leave and take their prisoner with them.

The prisoner had a bag over his head and heavy manacles on his wrists. He was tall and broad-shouldered, but he wasn’t resisting as strongly as a man his size should be. Steve would guess, from his body language, he’d either been ineffectively drugged or recently given a head injury.

Anger began to burn in Steve’s gut. “HYDRA soldiers, about to make contact,” he murmured into his comm, through clenched teeth. “Prisoner could be an asset. Stark, warn us if the feds get close.”

Stark cursed, and Steve distantly heard him talking to Jarvis, but Steve was too busy signalling the others again.

With Steve in the lead, they moved silently and fast across the pavement to the group of soldiers. He rounded the van and had the first agent on the ground before the rest of them even noticed he was there. Sam was right beside him, and Bucky and Natasha had come in from different angles so they had the group surrounded. The fight was short and brutal, and six of the HYDRA soldiers were incapacitated without firing a single bullet.

The seventh soldier had shoved himself back, away from Bucky, and as the team turned on him, he managed to get behind the asset. He carried a submachine gun, and forced the team to halt as he used the asset as a hostage.

“Let him go,” Steve ordered, through clenched teeth.

The soldier sneered at him. “Not in a million years,” he swore, and dug the gun into the asset’s head, glaring at Steve.

“He’s too valuable for you to shoot,” Natasha pointed out.

The soldier eyed her, then grinned. “You’re exactly right,” he declared, and he whipped the gun around and pointed it straight at her.

But before he could aim - in fact, as soon as he moved the gun - the asset reacted. He elbowed the soldier so hard he buckled at the waist, disarmed him with a few brutal swipes of the manacles on his arms, then got around behind him and got the man in what looked like a practised choke hold. The soldier had just enough time to look shocked, before he passed out in a crumpled heap.

Steve hesitated, not sure if he should raise his weapon, and the asset whipped the bag off his head. He assessed the situation frantically and before Steve knew it, he’d deftly kicked the submachine gun up off the ground and into one hand, pointing it straight at them even with his grip hampered by the manacles around his wrists.

“Hey, hey,” Steve said, holding out his hands placatingly. “We’re not HYDRA. You’re safe, we’ll get you out.” The others waited, tensely, for the man to speak, and tried to look non-threatening.

“Where’s my brother?” the asset demanded, not lowering the weapon. His eyebrows furrowed over darkened eyes and a thin, pointed nose. His shoulders hunched up under the thin t-shirt he wore.

Steve’s stomach clenched. “Your brother?” he said, baffled.

“Where is he?” the asset demanded again, scanning their faces frantically. He was pale and he looked ill; and Steve noticed he was bleeding from above his eyebrow. There was bruising as well, a deep smudge along his hairline, disappearing into the dark stubble of his shaved head.

“We don’t know, we didn’t know he was here,” Sam offered, calm and easy like usual. “We weren’t even sure you were here.”

The asset had a wild look in his eyes as he trained the gun on them, clearly thinking through his options.

Finally he said, “I’m not leaving here without him.”

“We’ll find him,” Steve promised, hoping the brother was still inside and hadn’t been carted off through another exit. “But right now we’d like to get you out of here.”

“What part of _I’m not leaving without him_ was difficult to understand?” the asset ground out, raising the gun again.

Bucky stepped forwards. “We’ll help you look for him, then. We have to go inside anyway.”

The asset studied Bucky’s face with a frown, and after a moment he nodded, and lowered the gun a little. “Fine, whatever.” He regarded them suspiciously for a moment. When no-one made a move towards him, or his weapon, he seemed to accept that they weren’t going to attack him just yet.

“Okay then,” Steve said. “Let’s go in. Please stay behind us. You’re not wearing any body armour. Or shoes,” he added.

The asset scoffed. “Do you know where you’re going once you get in there? No. Maybe _you_ should stay behind _me_.” He stalked off.

Steve raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and exchanged a look with Natasha. They hadn’t even gotten the manacles off the guy; it was like he didn’t even care.

They followed him back through the roller door and into the building. Once they were inside, the asset turned right, away from the doors that led to the main hallways, and into a small, unremarkable hallway that ran towards the corner of the building.

Bucky stayed close, ready to protect the asset or react if he turned on them. Steve followed behind and quickly assessed the asset, noting his posture and movements, and how he held the gun. He seemed military, highly trained, confident with weapons, laser-like focus even in adverse situations. Physically, though, he was thin, skin stretched over muscle and little else. Steve wondered how long he’d been in HYDRA’s control. He seemed fairly clear-headed. Maybe they hadn’t wiped him?

Steve heard the feds shouting to each other as they searched other parts of the building. “We need to move fast. How do we get to the basement?” he asked the asset, who ignored him since he was already breaking open one the many locked, unlabelled, innocuous doors this hallway seemed to contain.

It looked like a random choice, but the door revealed a stairway, and the asset went down it without saying anything or waiting for them. He was acting like he had a homing beacon. Or maybe like he was a guided missile.

Bucky went too, silent on the asset’s heels as he searched for his brother.

Natasha pulled on Steve’s sleeve. “This could be a trap,” she said, her voice low. “The brother might not exist; there’s unlimited types of compulsion this could be. He could be leading us towards a whole platoon of HYDRA soldiers.”

Steve nodded his acknowledgement even as he ducked through the doorway. Right now, their best option was to follow and deal with things as they came up, but he would continue to observe the asset closely.

The flight of stairs was long, and the room through the door at the bottom - a huge, open-plan lab, from the looks of it - was in disarray, with papers and equipment strewn across the floor, chairs overturned, and siren-style flashing lights, to warn everyone they were being invaded. Steve wondered why they hadn’t seen anyone escaping, apart from the soldiers.

“How many people are supposed to be here?” he asked the asset, even though none of his other questions had been answered. “Where the hell is everyone.”

The asset, who was prowling around the edge of the room, scanning the doorways and peering into the glass-windowed clean rooms, said, “I don’t know. I lost count of the soldiers. More than fifteen. There’s four doctors, and two who seem to be assistants. There’s also three _specialists_.” The way he spat the word out told Steve that ‘specialist’ was clearly code for something. The twist of disgust in the corner of Bucky’s mouth confirmed it.

Before he could ask, the asset’s gaze snapped up, responding to something Steve didn’t see. He took off, running through the lab towards the opposite side. He ducked behind a machine as gunshots came from one of the clean rooms, shattering the glass. Shouts were heard, and the gunfire cut off. The asset took aim with the submachine gun, managing to fire despite his manacled wrists.

Silence from the clean room. Ignoring his bare feet, the asset crashed through the door and when Bucky and Steve caught up with him, they found four wounded and dying soldiers, and one dead doctor, distinguishable by the lab coat. One doctor was still alive, and the asset had him shoved face-first up against one of the few unshattered observation windows.

“Where’s my brother?” he demanded, and he looked seconds from slamming the doctor’s head through the glass. He wasn’t using the gun to threaten, though; he’d dropped it to the floor like it was useless. Or like he didn’t need it.

Steve was about to intervene, not sure what the asset’s intentions were, when he noticed the angry, stone-cold look of recognition on Bucky’s face at the sight of the dead doctor.

The other doctor wasn’t cowed. “You’re going to regret this escape attempt. Just wait til we get you back in the Chamber.” He winced as the asset’s manacles dug into the back of his neck.

Steve felt Bucky stiffen almost imperceptibly.

“Who are these men?” Steve whispered.

“The dead one’s called Conrad,” Bucky said blankly. “I thought I killed him in Stuttgart, but apparently not. He was in charge of testing and improving pain tolerance.”

The implications made Steve’s blood ran cold.

Meanwhile, the asset was yelling at the doctor. “ _Escape attempt_? Haven’t you noticed what’s going on? Your colleagues are _gone_. There are cops here arresting everyone. Your torture chamber is about to be exposed, and you’re going to jail. But first, you’re going to tell me where my brother is.” The final words were shouted right in the doctor’s face, as the asset yanked him off the glass. He slammed him back so hard it cracked behind his head.

The doctor caught sight of them over the asset’s shoulder. “Get him off me,” he ordered. “He’s an escaped patient, and he’ll kill me.”

None of them moved. “I suggest you tell him where his brother is,” Steve said coldly.

The doctor glowered. “You won’t get away with this,” he said to the asset. “You won’t ever stop us--”

He was cut off when the asset punched him sharply in the face. “You have one more chance,” The asset ground out dangerously. “Tell me where he is.”

“Where do you think?” the doctor spat. “He’s still in the Chamber.”

The asset’s expression barely changed, but Steve could practically feel his rage intensify.

The asset grabbed the gun off the floor, hauled the doctor out of the lab, and dragged him, protesting, down the corridor. The man almost escaped from the asset’s manacled grip, but Bucky wordlessly stepped in to help.

They reached an elevator. “Open it,” the asset ordered, retrieving the doctor from Bucky and shoving his face into the metal next to the security panel.

The doctor hesitated, but then his lip curled. “Fine, I’ll open it. You know why? Because you need to learn not to be so sentimental.” The asset let him up, and he turned to the keypad. Natasha watched his fingers carefully as he keyed in a long, complex code.

“You were the one we always thought would work out. You were more rational, there was a hope that you’d see reason and the training would eventually take,” the doctor said, as though he expected the asset to agree with him. “The other one was always difficult,” he derided. “We should’ve never brought him here. When you get down there, you’re going to find out that he’s been terminated already.”

The panel went green, and the elevator doors opened. The asset was staring at the doctor.

“That brother of yours,” the doctor sneered up at the asset. “That stubborn, miserable wreck. He’s already been _killed_ , and you won’t--” The asset snapped his neck mid-sentence.

Steve flinched back, startled. The asset had barely moved, just shifted one of those huge arms. His wrists were still in those goddamned cuffs.

The asset let the doctor crumple to the floor, and then woodenly stepped into the elevator.

Steve stared at him. The asset met his eyes, half defiant, half terrified. Everyone was frozen, waiting.

Then Bucky stepped into the elevator too.

Steve shifted his gaze to him. Bucky’s face was almost unreadable, but Steve remembered when he’d looked exactly like this asset.

“Rushman and Wilson, data and explosives. Make copies of everything you can find and send them home. Check this level, then come find us. Warn us if the others come,” Steve said. Natasha hesitated, eyeing the asset, then disappeared into the lab. Sam followed silently in her wake.

Steve joined the others in the elevator, Bucky pressed the button, and the doors slid closed.

As the elevator descended, the back of Steve’s neck prickled. The asset was right next to him, and for a moment it seemed like all Steve could hear was his breathing.

Then there was a rustle of movement, and a crunch.

The cuffs hit the floor, and the asset flexed his free wrists. Bucky had broken the locks with his metal hand.

“How the hell did you do that,” the asset demanded suspiciously, adjusting his grip on the gun now that he could hold it with both hands.

“Prosthetic arm,” Bucky said.

“Right.” The asset was still frowning, and studied him. He didn’t have time to question it further, though; the elevator slowed, and the doors opened.

The asset shoved past Steve without even assessing the situation, and once again, they followed. Steve was getting sick of being on the back foot.

The elevator had opened onto another lab, tidier and completely deserted. The asset didn’t stop to look around, but headed across the room to a large door in the back wall. It had a panel of wired glass, and a security keypad. The asset didn’t even pause to look through the window, but focused on trying a code in the door. It buzzed angrily, and he cursed. He tried another one. Another red light, and he thumped the wall above the panel angrily.

“We’ll get in. I can get us in,” Bucky said, flexing his metal fingers.

“Don’t bother,” the asset bit out, and headed for a side door.

The room behind it was for observation; there was a large window, looking into the room beyond. Steve stopped short, at the sight of the torture chamber on the other side of the glass.

It was bright. The lights were unforgiving, and the room was white and tiled, sterile. It made the splashes of blood on the equipment stand out obscenely, and the bruises and cuts on the imprisoned man’s pale skin seem vividly colourful.

The imprisoned man was strapped at the wrists and ankles, into a contraption that was bolted to the floor and resembled an electric chair. He was wearing a bulky metal helmet that covered his face, and it seemed to be locked to the chair’s high back. There were bruises on his arms and chest, and some suspiciously dark scabs across the tops of his feet. He had a burn scar on his upper bicep, in the distinctive shape of a handprint.

There was another man, standing in front of him wearing a dark soldier’s uniform. The uniformed man had smears of blood on his hands and bare forearms, and an amused expression on his face. He was holding a gun, and it was pointed at the imprisoned man’s chest.

The imprisoned man wasn’t moving. His hands weren’t gripping the armrests, and the mask made it impossible to tell if he was aware of what was about to happen to him.

Steve had just a second to take all of this in, because the asset aimed the gun at the torturer and opened fire almost immediately. The man stumbled back, dropping his weapon as his shirt was torn by bullets.

The asset leapt through the broken window, ignoring the glass, and shoved the soldier back away from the other prisoner. He pinned him against a bench full of bloodied implements, and the torturer said something in a language Steve didn’t understand, but then blood began seeping from the corners of his mouth, and his limbs began to slacken.

“Enjoy hell,” the asset growled. He let the man fall to the floor, where he curled in on himself. After another moment or two, he stopped moving. The asset watched, perhaps to make sure the torturer was actually dead. Then he turned fearful eyes towards the imprisoned torture victim.

Steve and Bucky had climbed into the room through the broken window after the asset, and while the torturer was dying, Steve had checked on the brother. He’d pulled off one of his gloves to touch him carefully, fingers on the pulse at his throat. He was glad to be able to say, “He’s alive.”

The asset looked near tears from relief, and knelt down in front of his brother, touching his shoulders carefully with shaking hands. The brother had jerked when Steve touched him, and stayed tense even for his brother. Steve realised the helmet must create sensory deprivation; hearing and smell as well as sight. The brother hadn’t heard the bullets, didn’t realise his torturer was gone. Steve hurriedly turned his attention to the back of the chair, looking for a way to release him.

Bucky watched them, his eyes a little wild around the edges. “Go, if you need to,” Steve muttered to him, but Bucky looked at him like he was mad for suggesting it.

“We have to get him out of this fucking chair,” the asset said hoarsely, bloodied hands fluttering over the brother’s wounds.

“Do you know how to get the helmet off?” Steve asked him. He couldn’t work out how it functioned, and was reluctant to experiment. The asset nodded, and they switched places; he stood behind the chair and Steve began working on the buckles of the arm restraints.

They were old-fashioned leather, rather than steel. The ankle restraints were the same, and both sets had left angry red chafe marks. As he worked at getting them unbuckled, Steve tried to assess the brother’s injuries. The bruising was the most obvious; there were deep, round marks across his chest and shoulders. Some were dark enough to blend with the strange tattoo just below his collarbone.

There were also a number of cuts mixed in with the bruises, in various places on his chest, shoulders, arms, even the exposed skin of his ankles. They were scabbed over, but Steve could tell the wounds had been deep. They were also weirdly irregular, lacking a pattern or any kind of consistency.

So the brother couldn’t predict where he’d be cut next, Steve realised.

Before he could really absorb his anger about that, the asset found the catch that unlocked the helmet from the chair back. Steve released the last buckle, and stood to help the asset stabilise his brother’s head as they unhitched it. Bucky helped them carefully get the brother out of the chair and onto the floor.

“Be careful of the helmet,” the asset warned them. “Try not to move his head too much, because--”

Before he could say more, the brother’s muscles flexed, and his fist shot out, landing an astonishingly accurate punch right in the asset’s face. He rolled out of their loosened grip on him, getting a well-aimed, strong kick right in Bucky’s sternum, sending him backwards ungracefully.

He came at Steve, who defended himself carefully, unwilling to injure this man who was literally fighting blindly. Bucky came back in to help, but was forced back again when the brother managed to backhand him, then land another kick.

Steve grappled carefully, ducking the blows and trying to get a secure grip on the panicking man. Just when he thought he could get him restrained, the brother nailed him in the stomach with a sharp knee. He followed it with an attempt at kicking Steve in the balls, and Steve had to let him go to avoid it.

“Back off, I’ll get him. Just stay back,” the asset was yelling at them, as he approached his brother. He came at him from behind, which seemed dangerous, then barely fought when the brother attacked him. The brother struck quickly and hard, and soon had the asset pinned against the wall, one forearm pressed against the asset’s throat.

The asset started turning red as his oxygen was cut off, but then Steve realised that his slaps to the brother’s shoulder weren’t defensive; it was code. It was some kind of repeating pattern, and before Steve could even work out what it was, all the tension in the brother’s shoulders changed.

The brother raised an urgent hand to the asset’s face, and the asset waited while trembling fingers explored his features, feeling his nose, his ears, and what seemed to be a scar under his chin. But it worked, because the brother quickly released him.

They sagged into each other, as the asset allowed himself one moment of relief, embracing his brother tightly. The brother’s shoulders tensed, probably in pain as what looked like whip marks on his back were jostled, but he kept his hands on the asset’s shoulders, holding him close.

They parted, and the asset immediately reached up to hold the helmet. The brother tensed. The asset tapped him on the shoulder twice, and the brother pointed to where his mouth would probably be, and then also to his right eye. The asset grimaced.

“What’s going on? What does he need?” Steve asked.

“I can fix it, just give me a second,” the asset said grimly, as his brother bent his head so the asset could get better access to the top of the helmet.

At that moment Natasha appeared in the window. She took in the scene, raised an eyebrow at Steve, who nodded, and then she nodded back to him. Copies had been made, the data was destroyed, and the virus was chewing through the network. Bucky went to open the locked door, and she went around to meet him.

“Is there likely to be anyone else here?” Steve asked the asset.

He glanced up, flicked his gaze to the open door and Natasha, then said, “I don’t know. We were--there are prison cells off the main room, and there’s this room. I didn’t go anywhere else on this level.”

“Check for more data,” Steve said to her. “Make sure you set up explosives down here too.”

At that, the asset’s gaze flicked up again and he frowned, but then he turned back to his work. The back of the brother’s neck was trustingly exposed, but Steve could see the tense grip he had on the asset’s arm.

Finally, the asset triggered the right controls, and the helmet snapped apart into two halves. The asset lifted it off his brother’s face carefully, and revealed a man with greasy, matted hair and an unkempt beard; a contrast to the asset’s minimal stubble and neatly buzzed hair.

The asset tossed the helmet away with visible disgust, then looked back down at his brother, gently taking his face in his hands to study the damage.

The man’s face was a mess - his eyes were swollen, his cheekbones and jaw were bruised, and there was something metal in his mouth; it looked like a gag. His beard was blood-soaked down his chin. He managed to get one eye partially opened, though, and his first move was to raise his hand and run it over the brother’s close-cropped hair.

Against all odds, the asset grinned, even though there were tears in his eyes at the sight of his brother’s face. “I know. Motherfuckers cut it all off two days ago.”

The brother sagged a little, head dipping with fatigue. Two days, Steve noted; they hadn’t seen each other in at least two days, but they may have had contact before that.

“We really need to get out of here,” Steve interrupted. The clock was ticking, and they really didn’t need to get caught by the FBI.

“Do I have, like, two minutes?” the asset asked.

After a moment, Steve nodded, frowning. “Try to hurry.”

“What first?” the asset asked the brother, and after a moment’s thought, the brother pointed a trembling finger at his eye.

“Okay,” the asset said hoarsely.

Steve stepped closer to see what the asset was doing. He’d angled his brother’s head into the light, and he was looking closely at the man’s right eye.

“Do you know which way it’s twisting?” he said. The brother waved his finger in a circle. “Tell me if I get it wrong,” the asset said, and raised his hand to the brother’s eye. He moved his hand slowly, twisting and pulling incredibly gently. His hand shook slightly, and the brother’s fists clenched.

“I need one of you to come and hold his head still,” the asset gritted out.

Bucky was there before Steve could move. The asset met the brother’s good eye, and said, “He’s going to hold you, okay? Don’t freak out.”

The brother braced himself, and Bucky took hold of his head, flattening his palms on either side of his skull to hold him still.

Then the asset set to work, and Steve could barely comprehend what he was seeing. 

He was pulling a long, slender spike out of his brother’s eye. It wasn’t straight, either, it spiralled like a corkscrew, and the asset had to carefully twist it back out the way it went in. It must have been excruciatingly painful. Steve wanted to vomit.

“ _Stop_. Please stop,” he blurted out hoarsely. “You need to do this in a hospital. We can get you to medical care.”

“No thanks,” was all the asset said, and he kept going.

Steve heard footsteps behind him. Then Sam demanded shakily, “What the hell is he doing?” and Steve was glad he wasn’t the only one who was totally horrified by this. Sam’s footsteps hastily retreated to the door, but Natasha stayed. She stood close to Steve, staring at the brothers and Bucky, and for his part, Steve felt frozen and unable to look away, even though he’d much rather have followed Sam’s example and left the room so he didn’t have to watch this.

Finally the asset hurled the small metal spiral away from him, and the brother sagged against him for a moment. The tension in the room also seemed to sag, like everyone exhaled together. Sam looked shaky, but had obviously clenched his jaw and stiffened his resolve.

“What the hell was that?” Steve ground out. “What purpose could that--that _thing_ possibly have?”

The asset glanced at him, but most of his attention was still on his brother. “Punishment,” he said, after a moment.

Steve’s teeth ground together. “Punishment?” he gritted out. “No other reason? Just pain?”

The asset was looking carefully at the contraption in his brother’s mouth. “Today this was just--just punishment,” he said.

Then he said, “Alright, let’s do this,” and nodded to Bucky.

They held the brother still again, and the asset pinched his hand around the end of the gag, triggering some kind of mechanism. Then he carefully twisted, until he could pull a large spike with a heavily bloodstained point on the end out of his brother’s mouth. Steve wanted to vomit again; the point had been in the back of the brother’s throat, preventing him from talking, screaming, and probably from even breathing properly.

The brother buckled over with blood pouring out of his mouth. He gasped hoarsely, and Steve jerked forward to help. “Shit, is he--”

“He’ll be alright,” the asset said, tossing this second spike away as he held his brother up. “They’ve tested this on us. Before. I mean, they. We heal from this now.”

Anger rose in Steve’s gut, and he thought briefly about taking it out on the wall. “You heal. You--you know you heal. That’s.” He clenched his jaw shut on the rest of the words, too angry to continue.

Ignoring Steve, the asset lifted his brother’s face and gently made him open his mouth, so he could see the damage through the gasping breaths the man took. “There’s another part,’ he said. “How much time do we have left?”

“None,” Steve admitted grimly. “Is it life-threatening?”

The asset looked back at the brother and raised his eyebrows. The brother shook his head.

“We can go,” the asset confirmed.

“Right,” Steve said, attempting to channel his residual fury and disgust into determination to complete the mission. “Exfil back the way we came. There’s a field on the north east side of the parking lot, behind the trees, and our transportation is there. One of us will need to be with you when you get there. Try not to be seen.”

The asset nodded, and they moved out. As he passed, Steve muttered to Sam, “Hopefully there’s still some HYDRA personnel left in the building that we can punch on the way out.”

“Damn straight,” Sam agreed grimly.

The asset had his brother’s arm across his shoulders, and they moved efficiently. The asset seemed to have no trouble at all carrying his brother’s weight. As they crossed towards the elevator, though, Bucky shadowed them, closely guarding the brother’s exposed flank. The brother flinched from him a little, but then allowed it with a suspicious glare from his functioning eye.

The elevator was far more crowded than it had been on the way down. They barely fit, until Natasha climbed onto Steve’s shoulders and disappeared through the hatch above them without a word. The elevator’s movement slowed.

“What’s she doing?” the asset asked warily.

“This is a kill box. She’s going up ahead to make sure we’re not about to get ambushed,” Steve told him, tense and ready.

Two thumps on the roof, and Steve relaxed a little. He nodded at the asset when he raised an eyebrow at him. Natasha met them when the doors opened. “We need to hurry,” she said.

They moved out quickly, across the labs, up the stairs. Steve didn’t know whether to be relieved or pissed that they didn’t see any HYDRA soldiers. He could have used something to punch.

They slowed cautiously when they approached the exit from the hallways onto the loading dock. Natasha went ahead, then signalled back. “Damn,” Steve muttered.

“What?” the asset hissed. His brother was leaning against the wall, barely conscious and obviously in pain.

“Exit’s blocked,” Steve said, thinking through the options. Natasha looked to him, and he slipped towards her. “Be ready to move,” he whispered, nodding to Sam and Bucky. The asset looked between them, looked at his brother, and got a determined look on his face.

Natasha eased back from the cracked-open back door so he could see out. The parking lot was crawling with FBI agents and response teams, arresting the HYDRA soldiers they’d left with the unconscious ATF agents. There were agents standing in the loading dock as well, and Steve would bet there’d been patrols all over this corner of the building while they’d been downstairs. He cursed silently, and signalled for them all to retreat back into the service hallway.

“What’s going on?” the asset demanded. Steve hissed for him to keep his voice down.

“Barton?” he whispered into his comm. “Get to the roof. Get ready for the diversion,” he added, and nodded to Natasha, who tapped her comm to speak to Stark.

“Copy,” came Clint’s reply on his comms.

Steve gestured for the others to be ready to move, and he was about to get Bucky to help carry the asset’s brother, when the asset lifted him neatly in a fireman’s carry. “Can you maintain that?” Steve whispered urgently.

“Not forever,” the asset replied, but he shifted his brother’s weight easily and Steve suspected he would carry him for as long as he could stand upright.

Moving quickly, they hustled carefully and quietly past the door to the loading dock, towards the main hallways into the building. Steve took point, and Sam had their six; all of them kept a lookout for feds as they hustled the asset and his brother towards the fire stairs that led to the roof.

“Wait, was that cops outside?” the asset asked, as they reached the base of the stairs.

“They can’t keep you safe, trust me,” Steve warned him, and the urgency in his eyes must have been convincing because the man frowned but fell silent.

They went up the stairs cautiously, checking each flight for feds, and cautiously skirting the doors on each level. Steve heard people in the building, and shouts from outside, but so far it seemed like they’d escaped detection.

Just as they neared the top of the stairs, Steve heard Stark say, “Fire in the hole,” and moments later, the building was rocked by a huge explosion somewhere outside. They all staggered for a moment, and Bucky and Natasha had to help the asset regain his footing and his grip on the brother. There were panicked shouts and the sound of falling debris, and then the smell of burning.

The confusion and distraction covered the noise of the jet as it landed on the roof. In stealth mode, it made a bare minimum of noise, but it did send a subaudible hum through the whole building. When they reached the open air, Steve risked a look over the edge of the building to find that one of the warehouses had caught fire as a result of the explosion, and the feds were busy trying to put it out.

Natasha and Sam were the first on board, and the asset balked when they disappeared.

“What the hell?” he said angrily, and backed away from the empty space, careful of the weight on his shoulders. He looked around wildly; he could hear the jet, but he couldn’t see it, not yet.

“It’s a jet,” Steve explained. “It’s in stealth mode, we’ve got good tech.”

Bucky, who was still shadowing the brothers, said, “They won’t hurt you. It’s safe.”

The asset glared at him, and looked seconds from turning back into the building, to hell with them. “What the hell is going on? Who _are_ you people?”

Steve made a split-second decision.This was not the venue he would have chosen for this, but it seemed like the asset had reached the limit of whatever trust he had left, and Steve could hardly blame him.

So, he held his hands up, as if to show he wasn’t armed, then raised one hand to remove the mask from his face.

There was always the risk that the asset wouldn’t know who he was, wouldn’t know Captain America without the shield and the uniform, but the recognition on his face was almost immediate. He stared at Steve, and his expression went rapidly from suspicion to complete surprise. “Well, shit.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Bucky agreed. When Steve glanced over, his mask was also gone. The asset stared between the two of them, shocked.

Steve’s mouth quirked at the corners. “We’d like to take you and your brother to New York now, if that’s alright.” The longer they stayed, the more likely someone would notice noise of the jet, and the less cover their take-off would as the feds got the fire in the warehouse under control.

“I--uh. Yeah, okay,” the asset said shakily. He still looked surprised, but allowed Bucky to help him get his brother into the jet. He kept sneaking glances at Steve’s face, like he couldn’t believe it, but Steve pretended not to notice. He hit the button to engage the doors, and called to Clint to take them up.

The others slipped off their masks as well, and Bucky, Sam and Natasha helped the asset lay the brother down carefully on a padded bench that slid out of the jet’s wall. The asset kept staring at them in startled recognition, but his initial surprise faded back into wariness as he let them handle his unconscious brother.

The engines fired, and the jet took off. The asset looked trapped and uncomfortable, and his wariness of them increased. He only accepted the blanket Natasha offered him for his brother after examining it carefully. He studied their unmasked faces, learning them, and visibly tensed when he noticed Clint in the pilot’s chair and realised there was someone new in his orbit.

When everything seemed settled, Steve sat down on a seat just opposite the asset, who was sitting at the head of his brother’s bed, within easy reach if the brother woke up. The asset looked at him, and then glanced at Bucky, who’d sat silently next to Steve.

“So. You got us out,” the asset said.

Steve nodded. “We’ll do everything we can to make sure you’re safe.”

The asset didn’t seem reassured. “Why are you hiding from the cops?”

Steve grimaced. “It’s complicated. We’re trying to prevent HYDRA from knowing we were here. We didn’t expect to find you, but since we did, it seemed like a better idea to keep you out of sight. If the feds got involved, the military might also get involved, and we’re wary of a particular military program with a history of super-soldier experimentation,” he explained, aware that he was leaving out a lot of details.

The asset’s jaw clenched and his eyes widened in alarm as some part of that struck a chord. Steve rushed to add, “That’s not going to happen, though. You’ll be safe with us, we want to help you. The last thing we want is for you two to end up in a lab, or as part of any kind of program, military or HYDRA.”

The asset watched Steve with dark, untrusting eyes. Finally, though, he nodded. “Alright.”

Steve exhaled and tried for a smile.

Then the asset said, “You should know that if you’re lying to me and my brother gets hurt because of you, I don’t care who you are, I will kill you.”

The hairs on the back of Steve’s neck lifted. The expression on the asset’s face matched the one he’d worn in the elevator, just after he’d killed the doctor - half defiant, half terrified - and while Steve knew the threat was real, he could also tell it came from a place of sheer desperation.

The others had tensed, the atmosphere in the jet turning cold and strained. No doubt they were thinking of the the soldiers and doctors he’d killed. And the torturer.

The asset didn’t lower his eyes, and while he seemed aware of the others, he kept his gaze on Steve, quietly drawing a line in the sand.

Steve, after a moment’s consideration, offered, “I can understand that.”

The asset studied him, a darkness in his expression that Steve knew well; he’d seen it on Bucky’s face, on Bruce’s.

Eventually, he dropped his eyes, apparently satisfied. A pall of exhaustion crossed his face, and he sighed. “New York, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. Then he asked, “What’s your name? You and your brother.”

Another flash of anxiety and agitation, and his jaw clenched. He glanced around at them all, obviously reluctant to tell the truth about his identity.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Steve said calmly.

Finally the asset sighed, and gave up on whatever mental war he’d been waging with himself. “I’m Sam,” he said after a moment. “He’s Dean.”

Steve waited for more, but the asset just looked exhausted, and didn’t speak again. Steve accepted it. “You and your brother need to rest. I know there are a lot of questions that need answers, but we can discuss it later,” Steve added.

The asset - Sam, apparently - nodded, then dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his face.

“Call out if you need something,” Steve said, and stood to go towards the front of the jet.

Bucky hesitated for a moment, then followed Steve. They joined the others near the pilot’s chair, and Bucky turned so he could keep his eyes on the brothers. He had an expression on his face like there was something else he wanted to say. He didn’t say it, though; just kept watch over them as the jet climbed higher, heading for New York.


	3. Chapter 3

“We have a problem.” Tony’s voice came quietly through on the comms when they were somewhere over Pennsylvania. They’d been in the air for about two hours.

“What’s up?” Steve tensed, ready for action.

“Facial recognition came back. It’s...it’s not good, Steve.”

“Are they military?” Steve guessed, keeping his voice low to keep from disturbing the brothers. He’d assumed the asset was military from his behaviour and body language, and if they were, technically whichever branch they belonged to could probably lay claim to them. It would make keeping them away from General Ross that much trickier, if anyone found out about them.

Tony exhaled a kind of bitter laugh. “No, Steve, they’re not military. They’re FBI’s most wanted.”

Steve’s stomach bottomed out. “What?” he whispered, surprised.

“I am looking at footage of a _murder spree_ , Steve. Our asset and his brother are Sam and Dean Winchester, two violent criminals who killed over fifty people across five states about two years ago. Cops thought they were dead, but Christ, I guess not. There’s CCTV footage of most of it, you would not believe what I am watching right now.”

Steve couldn’t speak. He stared at the others, horrified.

“They’ve got pretty fucked up FBI files, and their arrest records from before the killing spree include murder, theft, fraud, _grave desecration_ ,” Tony added, then after a pause, said, “You know, it makes sense? HYDRA wants killers, so they go after people who are killers already.”

“Are you-- Did you say _grave desecration_?” Steve hissed, turning his head as he spoke so the asset and his brother wouldn’t overhear.

“Yes, I did,” Tony said grimly. “Fucked. Up.”

Unable to process his shock, Steve asked, “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. Between the photos in HYDRA’s medical files, the satellite photos of your rescue, and what’s in the FBI database, it’s a clear match. There’s no mistaking these guys. ”

Steve couldn’t say anything, and in his silence, Tony went on. “We’ve started to review the medical files you retrieved from HYDRA, and we’ve confirmed that they’re juiced up like you and Bucky,” he said. “This is a big problem, Steve. We can’t just turn them over to the cops, they’re enhanced. The FBI might be able to handle it, but we’d have to explain how we stole these two right out from under their noses. I also don’t trust them to keep the military out of it, and criminals or not, General Ross is probably still going to see this as an opportunity to get himself some brand new trained killers.”

“You’re probably right,” Steve agreed grimly. He risked a glance at the asset, but the man was staring at the floor, apparently oblivious to the hushed conversation. He was frowning, but Steve didn’t think he’d overheard.

He looked away, then said to Tony, “Send a message to Hill. We need options, and she’ll know how to handle this kind of thing.”

“And what about right now?”

“Stay on course. No changes. We’ll deal with this when we’re on the ground,” Steve decided, turning back to the team. He tried to appear resolute, even though he felt sick with anger.

Tony hesitated, then agreed. “Whatever you think is best. See you soon, Cap.” He signed off.

In the silence that followed, he found himself the subject of looks ranging from incredulous to worried.

“Proceed as normal,” he insisted quietly. If these men were criminals, and they’d been enhanced by HYDRA, any attempt at an arrest was likely to end in a fight. It’d be stupid to put their defenses up and let them know their cover was blown before they were within the secure walls of Stark Tower - while they were mid-air, in a perfect escape vehicle, no less. Better to pretend nothing was wrong, for now.

Natasha looked mutinous for a moment, but he shook his head meaningfully, and she conceded silently. The others seemed frustrated and confused, but Steve knew they wouldn’t challenge him. To Natasha, he said quietly, “Watch them.”

She nodded, still frowning at him, but he knew she’d be the best one to monitor the brothers. She’d be the most likely to know if they were planning something; to know if they were going to attack or escape.

Steve stood up and went back over to the seat he’d been in earlier. It placed him in between these men and his team, and also let him block their access to the jet’s controls.

“Is something wrong?” the asset asked.

Steve shook his head slightly. “No, it’s fine. We’ve received some additional information about the compound, which means we have more work to do once we land, that’s all.” The lie came out surprisingly smoothly.

The asset eyed him, but nodded and seemed too tired to question Steve any further. He turned his head to look down at his brother, watching over him.

Steve watched him for a moment, anger building slowly, then casually looked away. He made sure to keep his expression neutral.

He was used to being wrong about people, used to being disappointed when he assumed the best, but this time he’d been taken in. He’d been ready to think these men were just like Bucky; that they were traumatised and desperate civilians caught up in HYDRA’s web.

Obviously, he’d missed something.

He puzzled over it, wondering if Natasha was right and they were bringing two Trojan horses back to their home. He wouldn’t let them fool him again, he decided, and stayed watchful and wary as they drew closer to New York.

***

The closer they got to New York, the clearer it became to Sam that they were so incredibly fucked.

Just, it’d all happened so _fast_. The alarms had woken him, and then soldiers had come to force him out of his cell. He’d shouted for his brother, but they’d bashed him over the head and dragged him away.

He’d been so sure he’d never see Dean again, only to be _rescued_. He almost didn’t care who was doing the rescuing, he’d been so _relieved_.

On the roof, when Steve Rogers had revealed his face and promised they’d be safe, the little boy in Sam had just wholeheartedly believed him. Captain America had rescued them. And not just Captain America but Bucky Barnes, too - the original asset, the man who escaped from HYDRA after years and years. Sam had felt like all their problems were solved, like they’d be protected, like Dean would finally, _finally_ be safe.

Then on the jet he’d asked for their names, and Sam had remembered that, according to most of America, Sam and Dean Winchester were violent criminals. _Dead_ violent criminals. His momentary belief that the Avengers would help them crumbled into dust, as reality set it.

He hadn’t bothered to lie. HYDRA had known who they were, and the Avengers would surely find out. That last cop they’d saved, the one in Montana, he’d promised to fix things for them, but Sam had no illusions that it’d be enough to fool anyone for long, least of all the Avengers and Tony Stark.

So, better to learn how the Avengers treated violent criminals, and plan an escape from there. He could only hope they wouldn’t be separated immediately. He had to be able to warn Dean, to promise him that he’d get them out of this.

Sam’s peripheral vision caught movement. He strained to listen to the whispered hum of conversation coming from the group of Avengers near the cockpit.

Rogers tensed in shock at something - Sam had been hyper-aware of the man’s movements ever since they got on the jet - and while the words were still indistinct, Sam caught enough sidelong glances from the other team members to be fairly certain they were talking about him.

Then Rogers looked straight over, and Sam suppressed a flinch. He didn’t look up, didn’t betray that he’d been monitoring them. When Rogers turned away, it was to exchange a grim look with the Black Widow.

They knew already, then, Sam realised. Tony Stark _was_ good.

Then again, thanks to Dick Roman and the leviathans, their faces weren’t hard to find.

Sam ruthlessly suppressed his fight-or-flight instincts. The same instincts had been screaming at him for months now, every second they’d been in the lab, in the cells. _Get out. Get away. Fight until you’re free._ Sam didn’t let it show, and kept his facial expression as blank as possible. He breathed carefully, trying to get his suddenly-thundering heartbeat to slow down.

There was absolutely nothing he could do. They were unarmed, Dean was injured, and they were outnumbered - _so_ outnumbered. They wouldn’t be able to overpower the Avengers, and even if they could, Sam didn’t know how to fly a damn jet.

God, he should have refused to even get on the jet in the first place. He should have ditched their rescuers and stolen a car, or a van, he should have gotten them out of there himself. He shouldn’t have exposed them like this. It was all his fault.

After another moment of hissed conversation with his team, Rogers came back over and sat down. He didn’t say anything, but the sympathy was gone from his face. Bucky Barnes came to sit nearby as well, and watched Sam like he wanted to ask a question but couldn’t find the words.

That was it, then. They knew. Sam waited for them to arrest him, but they didn’t, and he wondered what was wrong. Maybe it was a jurisdiction thing, that they couldn’t arrest him in mid-air. Maybe they just didn’t want to start a fight in the jet.

Not that it mattered. Sam was realistic about his chances; he could practically feel the manacles around his wrists already.

He clenched his jaw, and dropped his eyes to Dean, then the floor again. The leviathans had a lot to answer for. Not only had they made their criminal records seem about a thousand times worse, their doppelgangers’ work was the only reason HYDRA had even been interested in them in the first place.

It had been that fucking killing spree. After Dean and Cas were gone, after the fight at SucroCorp, Sam had been in the wind, living under an assumed name, but obviously not far off the grid enough; HYDRA had found him, and they didn’t want to kill him. They’d offered him a damn _job_.

He’d been horrified; absolutely disgusted that they thought he was a killer, and worse, that he’d be a killer for _them_.

He’d run, gone further underground, and used every trick Frank Deveraux taught them to hide from HYDRA. He managed to evade them for a while, but they found him and sent soldiers. They’d stormed the derelict ruin he’d been camping in, drugged him when he tried to fight them off, then black-bagged him so they could bring him to a facility and hand him over to the doctors.

Sam couldn’t remember most of what happened for a long time after that. The only thing that stood out was the pain, burning through his entire body as all his muscles cramped again and again.

The rest was darkness, moments of consciousness in between periods of pain and recovery, again and again. Darkness, then bright lights, then darkness again. It all blended together. They’d kept him drugged for a long time.

When they’d finally allowed him to come back to lucidity, he’d been in a lab, strapped down and heavily guarded. They’d made the offer again; kill for us, willingly. The man who asked seemed like just a normal man in a suit - pure human - but the things he described, the things HYDRA wanted to do, the things he wanted _Sam_ to do, made him a monster in Sam’s mind.

Stupidly, they’d already enhanced Sam before they asked, and someone obviously hadn’t tested the straps against rage-boosted adrenalin. Sam’s new strength surprised and terrified him, but that day he’d put it to good use. He’d fought and fought, using every trick he’d ever learned, destroying everything he laid his hands on. He’d killed the man with the blue eyes, and even now he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it.

He’d almost escaped, too, made through the facility with the alarms screaming. He made it to the corridor upstairs, close enough to the doors to just barely taste fresh air, before they shot him with enough tranquillisers to knock him out for a week.

After that, the treatments had started.

Some days it was physical pain, some days it was drugs and lights and strange sounds. Once they’d wiped away all his memories, and tried to convince him he was someone else, but his paranoia had ramped up, and the world had dissolved into a haze of threats. He’d killed three guards and destroyed a supposedly indestructible jail cell.

They tranquilized him, and when he woke up he was himself again. He remembered the amnesia, though, and remembered enough to know that the second time they tried it - the second, third and fourth times - it wore off quicker and quicker.

After the fifth time didn’t even work, they switched from brainwashing to physical torture. Beatings, electrocution, strange chemicals that set his whole body on fire with cramps and painful spasms. They wanted to break him down, to make the pain bad enough that he would do anything they wanted to make it stop.

But after what Sam had been through in the Cage, after what he’d done and how much he’d struggled to survive and remain _himself_ despite Lucifer, Lilith, the yellow-eyed-demon, despite _everything in his life_ … physical pain wasn’t enough to break him anymore.

As long as they couldn’t wipe away who he was, he could survive. He’d worked too hard to save himself from other kinds of evil; he refused to let HYDRA twist him into their personal killer.

So he’d vowed, over and over again, that it would never work. No matter what they did to him, or how much it hurt, he had to endure. Even if this existence of torture and pain was all he had left, if it lasted until they finally killed him, that was better than the alternative.

And then, one day when he was strapped to the chair in the Chamber, they’d rolled in his unconscious brother on a lab table.

At first, Sam thought they’d found Dean’s body. Then they’d told him Dean was alive, that they’d found him when he called Sam’s long-lost cellphone out of the blue, expecting to hear Sam on the other end. They’d picked him up immediately, thrilled to have both brothers to enhance and use against each other. They’d _gloated_ over it, so certain that they finally had the leverage they needed against Sam.

Dean had already been enhanced. HYDRA woke him up, and he met Sam’s eyes with a furious glare. Sam had stared back, hope and terror sparking in his chest. He didn’t bother to tell the doctors that his chances of escape had just tripled.

Or that the thorn Sam had planned to be in HYDRA’s side, once he’d worked out how to escape, had just gotten exponentially bigger.

With renewed anger, Sam focused on their escape route. They tried, and then tried again. Both times, it was messy and they came so close to freedom. But there were too many soldiers, too many drugs in their systems. They were kept separately too often, and after the first attempt, kept in much stronger restraints. Finding another way to get out had been harder.

Then the Avengers came, and now Sam didn’t know what was going to happen.

He had no proof. He had no way to convince them they weren’t the killers they thought. Sam’d seen the videos of the killing spree - they had absolutely no reason to give him the benefit of the doubt.

They had to escape, as soon as possible, and probably in a way that meant the Avengers wouldn’t come looking for them. Sam didn’t think they’d ever be able to get far enough off the grid to hide from someone as powerful and plugged in as Tony Stark. Sam remembered Frank warning them, even, that Dick Roman’s leviathans were one thing, but Tony Stark was something else.

Hell, Frank’d pre-emptively made them promise never to do anything to get on Tony Stark’s radar at all. He’d made them swear it, before he’d agreed to work with them, and then also made them swear they’d never come near him if Tony Stark was on their tail. At the time, Sam had thought it was laughable paranoia.

He wasn’t laughing now. Now, he was trying to convince himself that there had to be a way. They could escape during trial, or stage a jailbreak from whatever facility the Avengers stashed them in. They could escape off the runway, as soon as they landed the jet. As long as he could communicate with Dean, they could escape. And then...fuck, they’d stay gone. Fake their deaths again, and leave the country to go live in the jungle in South America, if they had to.

Sam told himself that at least the Avengers would probably let his brother heal up, before they locked them away. They’d do tests to to find out exactly what HYDRA had done, which might be dangerous but might also be useful. They _probably_ wouldn’t torture them. They’d keep them away from the military… Come to think of it, the military might be easier to escape from. Sam would have to keep that in mind.

He closed his eyes, attempting to rest. Not to sleep - he was fairly sure he’d never sleep again - but rest. He was going to need it; Dean wasn’t up to much, and anyway, Sam got them into this. He should be the one to get them out.

He just had to work out how.

***

When the pilot advised that they were coming in for landing, Sam raised his head and looked around. Rogers and Barnes were still sitting opposite, and the rest of the team watched warily from around the jet.

Sam tried to stay relaxed, to appear neutral and non-threatening. He knew that these people were extremely dangerous, and until he had a plan, it’d be a good idea not to piss them off too much. But Dean would have to be woken soon, and Sam was a little sick of waiting. He wanted to know what they’d face; he wanted to get rid of the elephant in the room, and be open about what everyone already knew about him.

“So are you gonna arrest us, or what?” he asked Rogers quietly.

His voice broke the silence, and seemed to electrify the atmosphere. As one, the Avengers tensed up, and some of them exchanged glances. Rogers didn’t look at anyone else - just kept his eyes steadily on Sam.

After a pause, he said, “Is there any reason why I should?”

Unexpected anger burned through Sam. “Cut the bullshit,” he ground out. “You know who we are. I know you all know.”

Rogers’ lips thinned. “Fine. Yes, we know who you are. When we land, we’ll arrest you.”

Hearing it out loud was worse than Sam expected. It felt like a cell door slamming shut. “And what will happen after that?” he asked.

“You and your brother will receive medical treatment for your injuries, and we’ll work out how to deal with what HYDRA did to you.”

Before Sam could work out how to respond to that, the jet swooped and jolted. Panic distracted him, as he looked out the front windows of the jet only to see skyscrapers passing much too close. Startled, he demanded, “Where are we?” The jet swooped into a weird sideways movement, but how could they be landing? This couldn’t be a runway.

Rogers calmly said, “Stark Tower. There’s a landing track built into the side of the building, and the jet docks into a hangar.”

Sam looked at him, wide-eyed, then looked out through the front window again as the jet was pulled in. The world darkened around them as the doors closed over the hangar.

When the movement stopped, he leaned over and grasped Dean’s shoulder gently, trying not to startle him. “Hey, Dean, time to get up.”

Dean jerked sharply, inhaling like he’d been woken from a nightmare. He struggled at first, but then his functional eye fixed on Sam’s face. He became aware, and he relaxed a little.

Sam helped him sit up, and Dean’s single eye flicked quickly around Sam’s six, taking in the interior of the jet and the watching Avengers. He paused on Rogers, and while he gave no outward sign that he recognised him, Sam knew better.

When no-one immediately seemed inclined to attack them, Dean looked at Sam and raised an eyebrow.

Sam briefly let his despair and worry show on his face, and shook his head slightly.

Dean stared at him for a moment, then nodded. For a moment, he looked sick to his stomach - beneath the bruising and injuries, his expression was regretful and briefly scared. Then the moment passed, and he just looked exhausted.

The jet’s hatch lowered, revealing a hangar, and Sam nervously split his attention between the other people he could see out there, and Dean, who was slowing stretching out his legs and testing his various body parts for pain or strain.

Some of the people outside the hangar were recognisable; namely, Tony Stark. He had a security team with him, and Sam could also see what looked like a number of medical staff. He tensed up at the sight, but there was nothing he could do, so he forced himself to focus on Dean.

His brother’s damaged eye was still closed and puffy, but the other one now opened almost all the way. His torso was still multicoloured under the blanket draped around his shoulders, littered with cuts and bruises, but he was able to flex his feet without opening those injuries. He was healing fast - like they did, now.

While Sam was checking him over, Dean stared at him, mapping his face with his single eye like he thought he’d never get to see it again. Sam checked Dean’s feet, checked his face, and checked again, trying to draw out the contact with his brother. He knew what was coming, and he didn’t know when he would see Dean again either.

Rogers left the jet, striding down the ramp to talk to Tony Stark. Black Widow went with him, but Barnes and the other two men remained. They didn’t say anything; just waited, silent and watchful. Sam was tense, waiting for the medical team to approach, waiting for Tony Stark, waiting for whatever was going to happen to them next.

When he came back on board, Rogers brought medical personnel and a stretcher with him. Sam flinched when he saw them coming, and suddenly he couldn’t stand the thought of them touching him.

“No,” he protested involuntarily, moving so he could better defend Dean’s body with his own. “No more doctors,” he said, his mind full of the last people in white coats who’d come near his brother.

The other Avengers reacted when he moved, tensed like they were waiting to have to restrain him when he attacked. They stopped when he stopped, but watched closely, glancing between him and the Captain.

Rogers also stopped, and held up a closed fist. The medical team stopped at the signal, which meant they were probably military as well. Great.

“We want to help your brother,” Rogers said.

“No,” Sam insisted. “He doesn’t need it.”

Rogers hesitated, studying Sam.

Before either of them could react much more than that, Dean grimaced and stood up. He gestured towards the medical team with a headshake, fixing Sam with a look.

“See? He doesn’t want it,” Sam told Rogers. “We’re fine.”

As he said it, Dean swayed on his feet and Sam had to reach over to steady him.

Rogers gave them a skeptical look, and said to Dean, “Every protocol in the book says you get medical help,” he said. “We’re not going to skip that just because you’re not interested.”

Dean glared at him and shook his head again. He didn’t try to shake Sam off, but he had a mulish look on his face, underneath all the dried blood.

Sam caught the Captain’s eyes lingering on the deep bruising, the cuts, and the abraded skin around Dean’s wrists. He waited, holding his breath.

“If you can walk, walk,” the Captain decided. “No stretcher. But we will need to get you both checked out,” he promised. With a gesture, he made the medical team back away.

Sam decided to deal with that when it happened, and focused on supporting Dean as they walked slowly down the ramp, his arm around Dean and one of Dean’s arms slung across his shoulders. Dean still had the blanket draped around him, but Sam felt him shiver a little in the cold of the hangar,.

The medical team retreated to the side of the ramp and watched them like hawks. Sam could tell they were itching to step in and make Dean comply, make him accept their stretcher and their shots and their _treatment_.

As they reached the deck, and the brothers came closer to Tony Stark - there was another man with him, a slight man in glasses and a pale purple shirt - Stark’s security team surreptitiously fanned out behind them, surrounding them. When they stopped, and as Sam eased Dean’s arm off his shoulders to let him stand on his own, he realised that the rest of the Avengers had also carefully positioned themselves to block all of the escape routes, both onto the jet and into the building. Sam wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t like they were in any state to escape right now.

Rogers took his place beside Stark, who had a grim look on his face.

“Sam and Dean Winchester,” the Captain said. “With the authority given to me by the state of New York, I am placing you under arrest on charges of murder, assault, kidnapping, breaking and entering, armed robbery and escaping police custody.”

Even though he’d seen it coming, Sam’s stomach twisted. The Captain added some details about their rights, and the jurisdictions that were involved. Sam listened carefully, and kept his chin up, determined not to seem afraid. Beside him, Dean had tensed as the Captain spoke, but then just sighed tiredly.

Once the Captain was done, there was an awkward silence, when they obviously expected Sam and Dean to react. The security team had even raised their weapons in preparation. Sam wasn’t sure what they expected them to do - fight? escape? - so he just waited for the moment to pass and the Avengers to get on with things. Dean just closed his eye, and swayed a little on his feet.

Eventually, Stark couldn’t help himself. “Really? Nothing? No reaction?”

“What do you want?” Sam asked hoarsely, confused.

“Questions? Anger? A fight?” Stark’s expression seemed equal parts grim and anticipatory.

“Fresh out, I guess,” Sam said.

“Oh sure, you’re not going to fight,” Stark replied. “Excuse me if I don’t take your word for it. We found plenty of footage from that killing spree the two of you went on, and I’ve seen the way the two of you operate.”

Sam clenched his jaw a little, but forced himself to stay calm. If Stark had seen all the footage from the leviathans’ killing spree, that explained both the hostility and his surprise that they weren’t trying to attack. “That wasn’t us, actually,” he said.

Stark looked furious. “Tell that to the bank security cameras,” he said. “And the convenience store footage. And the cellphone video from the diner murders.”

Sam gritted his teeth again at the reminder of what had been done in their names, but he still knew there was no advantage in picking a fight. “It wasn’t us but I know we can’t prove it. You want to arrest us? _Fine_. Just get on with it,” he ground out.

“Yeah, you know what? I’m not in the mood to take orders from someone who killed eighteen people and _smiled while they did it_ ,” Stark shot back.

“It wasn’t us,” Sam yelled as his frustration boiled over. Security staff immediately closed in with their weapons raised, getting between him and Stark and flanking Dean on all sides as well.

Sam froze, bile rising in his throat. Stark watched him, expression grim, from the other side of the guns. There was a tense moment while no-one spoke.

Sam clenched his jaw, and slowly stepped back. Their accusations made him feel sick to his stomach, and it galled him to back down. But he knew they had no proof, that nobody here had any reason to believe them, and also, Captain America had already made up his mind.

Eventually Stark said, “Here’s what’s going to happen. You will be held in custody here in Avengers tower until we can work out how you can be tried in a court of law. We will run some tests to find out exactly what HYDRA did to you. You will be under guard, and no, I am not talking about the Keystone Cops you’re used to escaping from. You make any false moves and my security will take you down. Do you understand me?”

Sam bristled. “Stop pointing guns at my brother and we won’t have a problem,” he gritted out.

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“So much for safe,” Sam spat in Rogers’ direction.

“You’ll be safe,” Rogers promised. “No-one will hurt you, and you won’t be allowed to hurt anyone else,” he said.

Sam clenched his jaw, furious but unable to do anything about it. He wasn’t looking at Dean but he could imagine the insulted look on his brother’s face.

“If you try to escape, we will find you,” Stark went on. “If you attack anyone in this Tower, you will regret it. If you try to contact HYDRA, you will regret it. If you fuck us around in any way at all, you will regret it. _Is that clear_?”

Sam wanted to vomit at the suggestion that they would voluntarily put themselves back in HYDRA’s power, but refused to give Stark the satisfaction. So, he just raised his chin again and met Tony’s angry stare with his own. “Crystal.”

He hadn’t expected a different outcome, and he knew there were a lot of ways it could have gone a lot worse for them, but the powerlessness as the security team closed in _burned_ at Sam. He had to stop himself from fighting them off, especially when they came at him with heavy metal restraints, too similar to the ones he’d been wearing at HYDRA.

He focussed on calming himself, on memorizing their faces and assessing their skills, the level of threat they posed.

Then they closed a pair of smaller, padded restraints around Dean’s wrists, and Sam almost lost it. He wanted to kill them all and just _get Dean out_ ; he wanted freedom for his brother so badly, he was getting to the point where he didn’t care what he had to do to get it.

God, they thought Dean was a killer, and Sam _hated_ it.

Then he caught Rogers watching them - looking at Dean’s bruised wrists again, encased in restraints this time - with something akin to self-disgust. Good, Sam thought bitterly. The Captain caught his eye, and looked away.

Despair almost swallowed Sam as they were pronounced ready.

“Are you sure you don’t want to use the stretcher?” Rogers asked Dean.

A spark of pride kindled in Sam as, bloodied, bruised, and blind in one eye, Dean straightened his shoulders and raised his head, and every element of his expression clearly told the Captain to go screw himself.

The Captain grimaced at the rebuff, but nodded. “Fine. Time to go,” he ordered. “We’ll debrief later, in the war room,” he told the pilot and some of the others, then led the way across the hangar.

It was a cramped elevator ride. Sam, Dean, the Captain, Stark, the man with the glasses, Barnes, the Black Widow, three medical staff _and_ half the security team. The elevator moved soundlessly, lit-up numbers flashing down steadily. Dean swayed on his feet a few times, but he refused to let anyone other than Sam touch him.

When they arrived on the medical floor, they were led down a couple of hallways, and then Sam had to control his gag reflex at the sight of the medical lab, the hospital beds, the _machines_. He balked, stopping at the entrance of the large open space. “No. No more treatment,” he protested, involuntarily backing away. Dean stood beside him, silently staring at the equipment, the lights.

“No-one’s gonna hurt you,” Rogers promised. “But we need to run a scan, to check for implants and tracking devices.”

Logically, Sam understood, but he was frozen on the spot, panicked, hovering in a space between the uncertain future that yawned in front of him, and the memories of torture that lingered just behind his eyes. He couldn’t take a step in any direction, he was cornered, and fear swooped in his stomach. He knew, peripherally, that two members of the medical team were still behind him, the Black Widow was observing him alarmingly carefully, and Dean was completely surrounded. He knew, also, that Avengers security would take him down hard, without mercy, if he attacked.

Rogers, apparently aware of some of what was going through Sam’s head, held an open hand out, placating. “The scan is non-invasive. The doctors will also check your blood pressure, check your brother’s feet, and make sure his eye is doing okay. It’s nothing out of the ordinary,” he explained calmly. “They can work out how to get that thing out of his mouth.”

Beside him, Stark’s expression twisted in disgust, like he couldn’t believe Rogers was wasting his time.

“I already know how to get the thing out of his mouth,” Sam said harshly. His fists clenched, manacles tight around his wrists.

“We want to help,” Rogers said. “Right now, it’s in your best interests - and your brother’s best interests - to cooperate.” His voice was getting an impatient edge, and his choice of words made Sam’s stomach twist and clench. Dean tensed, behind him.

 _Cooperate_. HYDRA told them to cooperate, too.

“Why the hell do we care, Steve?” Stark interjected. “If the mass murderers don’t mind getting infections, just run the scan and move on. Bruce has better things to do.” Perversely, for a second Sam hoped that argument would actually work.

“Tony, they should have proper medical treatment,” the man with the glasses objected. It wasn’t a strong objection, though, and the concerned look on his face was mingled with revulsion.

“Enough,” Rogers barked. He gave the man with glasses an offended look - he’d caught on to his ambivalence - and said to Sam, “Dr Banner and the rest of the medical team will help you. I know you’ve just been in the care of doctors who don’t deserve the name, but this is different.”

Sam tried to remember the doctors he’d gone to in the past, tried to remind himself that not all of them were torturers, but with the Chamber so fresh in his mind, it was impossible. The idea was far too threatening. He couldn’t bring himself to stand down.

Then, out of nowhere, Barnes said, “It’s evidence.”

Everyone stared at him. “What?” Stark said.

“You’ll both heal whether you see a doctor or not,” Barnes guessed, talking to Sam, “It’s what I do. But they need to know what happened to you. Your brother is evidence. Let them see it.” Dean was looking interestedly in Barnes’ direction with his one eye, and Sam edged in front of him to try and block Barnes from view.

“You’ve already seen it,” Sam protested. “You were _there_.”

“Banner wasn’t,” Barnes said. “Let him do an exam. He can tell the other Avengers what he sees.”

“They were there too,” Sam replied angrily. “They saw the torture chamber, wasn’t that enough?”

“It was. But Banner-” Here Barnes hesitated for a moment. “Banner won’t hurt you.”

It was like Barnes was trying to tell him something, but Sam was just confused. He’d guessed Banner was the man in the glasses, but he didn’t understand the way Barnes’ suggestion made Banner stare at him in surprise. He didn’t know what was going on, and he didn’t know who to trust. And when he thought about the way Banner had looked at them just moments ago, he couldn’t bear to think of trusting him with Dean’s life.

As Sam’s indecisiveness stretched, Dean got tired of waiting. He stepped in front of Sam, meeting his eyes then gestured with his cuffed hands between Barnes and Banner, flicking his fingers a little.

Sam clenched his jaw, clenched his fists again.

“Fine. He’ll do it,” he conceded on Dean’s behalf, with a sick feeling in his stomach. Dean gave him a reassuring look, but the exhaustion in his eyes spoke more of resignation than any kind of faith in the medical staff.

Sam glared, powerless and desperate, every instinct in him shouting that this was wrong, as Dean stepped forwards. The medical team swarmed him, and Dean allowed them to help him onto that fucking stretcher.

Sam followed Dean with his eyes as they wheeled him away. The man called Banner went with them.

Rogers stepped forwards. “Come on, in here,” he said, gesturing for Sam to precede him into a glass-walled room near the entrance Sam had been frozen in. He forced his feet to move, and kept glancing over at Dean’s team of medical staff as he went.

The room was plain, bare, with two hospital beds and very little else. The beds were bolted to the floor. The door faced out into the lab, and Sam stayed near it, by the windows, so he could see his brother.

“This is where you’ll stay today, and probably overnight,” Rogers explained. “You’ll be monitored around the clock. The walls are reinforced glass, you won’t be able to break through. We don’t want to restrain you more than we already have, but we will if we have to.”

Sam’s fists clenched helplessly in his manacles. As he listened, he watched Dean and the medical staff, who were visible past the benches and the medical machines, on the other side of the lab. At least Sam could still see them.

The HYDRA official in his peripheral vision said, “The doctors will come in to scan you too, and I suggest you cooperate.”

Sam’s head snapped around, and his stomach lurched. But it wasn’t a HYDRA official, it was Rogers. Sam stared at him, remembering that they’d been rescued, this wasn’t the same lab.

Rogers raised an eyebrow, waiting for Sam to answer. Sam nodded, to cover his fear, and coughed awkwardly.

“Any questions?” Stark said sharply.

Sam gritted his teeth, but shook his head, and let his focus return to Dean. The Captain said something else, and so did the Black Widow, but Sam stopped listening. They fell into a discussion with Stark, and Sam chafed under the glares of the security staff. Barnes was standing next to him, and his close presence made Sam’s shoulders tense up painfully tight.

He tried to ignore it, tried to stay focused, but he hated every second that he was separated from Dean - hated, even more, how much medical equipment there was in that damn lab. It was too much, it was taking too long, he didn’t want to be stuck in this room anymore.

He’d started thinking crazy, desperate thoughts about faking a seizure and using the moment everyone dropped their guard to get a baton off the security staff and use it, when the elevator chimed. The doors opened to reveal a tall, dark-haired businesswoman with a serious expression, and Sam wondered what kind of job she had, that she’d concealed a gun in a holster under her blazer.

The Avengers’ conversation immediately ceased, as they turned to the new arrival.

“Hill?” Stark sounded surprised. “What’s up?”

“Stark,” she said, nodding to him. “Where are the brothers?” Before she’d finished asking the question, her eyes fell on Sam and lit up with recognition. “Sam Winchester. I’m Maria Hill,” she said, as her eyes raked over him like she was checking him for injuries. She frowned at his hands. “Get those manacles off him. Where’s the other one?”

“What--why?” Rogers asked, surprised. “The brother’s in there, with the doctors.”

She peered through the window, locating Dean in the lab. “What happened? Why does he need medical attention?” she asked sharply.

“He was tortured, but more importantly, what the hell?” Stark said.

“ _Tortured_ ,” she repeated angrily. She glared through the window, then turned back to them. When she caught sight of Sam again, and saw that no-one had made a move to release him, she repeated, “Free him from the restraints.”

“No!” Stark replied, baffled and angry. “He’s a spree killer, Hill, why the fuck would I let him out of those restraints?”

This seemed to check her; she stared at Stark, then glanced around at the others, taking in the number of security staff in the room. “You haven’t seen my email. Did you contact anyone else about the brothers? The FBI? Have you released any information about the brothers to law enforcement?”

Rogers sounded confused when he said, “No, we didn’t contact anyone else yet. We were waiting for your advice.”

“Good,” she said. “Don’t. These two men need to stay in your custody until the threat from HYDRA can be neutralised and they can be released safely. Exposing their presence here is dangerous, so we need to lock this down. You need to keep their information confidential, Stark, and make sure no-one can work out you’ve been running searches on them or accessing their files. I’d also suggest removing non-essential personnel,” she added, eyeing the security staff.

After a moment of surprised silence, Stark said, “Oh, I’m sorry, would you care to explain any of that? Especially the part where you think the security staff are non-essential personnel right now?”

“They’re not a threat to you, Stark,” she explained impatiently. “They’re not spree killers and they’re not your prisoners,” she added. “The more people who know they’re here, the more dangerous it gets for them and for everyone. And none of us is equipped to handle what could happen.”

She met Sam’s gaze as she said it, and while he didn’t let it show on his face, he absolutely agreed with her.

It hadn’t occurred to him earlier, but it was true. The more people who found out the Winchesters had been arrested by the Avengers, the more likely it was that Crowley, or the angels, or any one of their many, many other enemies, would overcome whatever survival instincts usually kept them away from the big-name public heroes and infiltrate the tower. These people had no idea of the danger they were in.

Rogers was staring at Sam suspiciously, as Stark demanded of the woman, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Hill didn’t answer immediately, and Sam took the chance to asked, “What exactly do you think you know?”

She kept her eyes on Sam’s as she said, “I don’t know all of it, but I know enough.”

“How?” Sam demanded, before Stark or anyone else could get a word in.

“I used to be a Commander in an intelligence organisation called SHIELD, and we investigated you and your brother,” she said plainly. Sam’s stomach plummeted, and he clenched his fists, but then she added, “We uncovered the details of what you do, and a decision was made to allow you to continue unhindered. We couldn’t control any of the other law enforcement investigations, and we also felt we couldn’t assist you, but we continued to monitor you on and off, and we were prepared to step in to help if we could help.”

Sam’s mind raced. He didn’t like the idea that there’d been a whole investigation into him and Dean, and neither of them had even been aware of it, but one other key fact stood out.

“You never arrested us,” he said. “You never even brought us in for questioning.”

“No, because it was clear to us that what you were doing was necessary,” Hill said.

Sam blinked in surprise. Before he could work out how to react to that, Stark stepped in, and this time he was absolutely furious.

“ _Necessary_?” he spat. “You know, I’ve seen the files on a lot of SHIELD’s black book ops, and I know you can justify a lot of it, Maria, but I cannot believe you’re standing there telling me that letting those two go free was _necessary_.”

“Tony, it’s complicated,” she told him. “When you see the reports, you’ll understand.”

Sam realised she meant it, and then wondered what she was going to tell them. The truth, or a cover story? Surely she wouldn’t tell the Avengers the truth, not about this?

“What reports?” Stark demanded. “I’ve been going over SHIELD’s files with a fine tooth comb for the past two years, there’s nothing about these two.”

“The reports on the Winchesters were removed from the system,” she explained. “We scrubbed all traces of the official investigation when we closed it, and none of the subsequent information we collected was ever made official, so it was never part of SHIELD intel. It wasn’t on the mainframe, or any of our other servers, and it also wasn’t released from the Triskelion that day. This information wasn’t available by clearance level, it was need to know for only a handful of personnel.”

Sam frowned at her in surprise. They’d destroyed information, to protect a couple of criminals?

Then she said, “We also have proof that they were framed for the killing spree.”

The whole room seemed to freeze for a second. Rogers looked surprised, and the Black Widow turned her interested gaze on Sam, like she was re-assessing him. A wild, dangerous kind of hope suddenly kindled in Sam’s chest.

Then, just as Hill opened her mouth to go on, a hoarse scream cut through the air, coming from the lab.

The sound electrified him; Sam would know it anywhere, it’d echoed through his nightmares for years now and he’d been forced to listen to it live and up close in HYDRA’s lab.

“Dean,” Sam yelled, as he shoved past Barnes and made it out the door of the glass room before anyone could react. His speed took the soldiers just outside the door by surprise, and they went down easily under his blows.

Dean screamed again, and Sam sprinted into the lab.


	4. Chapter 4

_Dean had relaxed on the stretcher as much as he could. The doctors had been fucking around, checking his blood pressure, taking his temperature, easing him into it by doing a lot of small, non-invasive things. By the time they wanted to look in his mouth, at the helmet’s mouthpiece, he was wary but willing to let them._

_One of them - not Banner, one of the others - talked to him calmly the whole time, telling him everything all of them were doing. She asked if he’d cooperate while they scanned him, and offered to take the restraints off if he did._

_Now wasn’t the moment for an escape, and even though it was more doctors, it was just a scan. Captain America had promised it was just a scan. Dean could cooperate for that._

_Then they’d led him over to the machine. It was white, with a padded bench and a mechanical arm arching over the top. No, it couldn’t be. They couldn’t do this, he couldn’t do it again. Dean felt the sting of a needle in his neck, and his heart rate went into overdrive. They laid him down on the bench, and the sides of the submersion tank rose around him, the liquid would start pouring in any second now - he couldn’t breathe right - he couldn’t move his limbs - everything hurt, his chest tightened as he tried to breathe - Sam, where was Sam?_

_The machine turned on, and he couldn’t move. The light came over him - blue light - the tank was going to start filling up - he couldn’t move, he couldn't breathe. He held his breath. Shadows built up around him, and he couldn't move. Someone was screaming._

_He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t live through that anymore._

_He had to get out._

***

Dean was thrashing on a padded table at the other end of the lab. He was surrounded by medical staff who were trying to hold him down. Banner had backed away, but he was still giving instructions to the medical staff.

A machine whirred over Dean; it was a movable robot arm, with an all-too-familiar blue light on the end. The blue light moved over Dean, even as he struggled, and anger surged through Sam like a tidal wave.

Some of the doctors - soldiers, specialists, torturers, whatever they were - turned in alarm as he approached, but Sam was unstoppable, he met them head on and took out three within seconds, using the heavy manacles that were still around his wrists as blunt weaponry.

There were shouts behind him, and he was dimly aware of someone yelling Banner’s name. Dean was still in the machine, under the light, and Sam fought to get to him. Dean wasn’t screaming or struggling anymore; he was frozen, panting in terror, staring up at the light above him.

Sam reached the machine, braced himself, then wound back and swung his arms. The edge of his manacles crashed into the light, breaking glass and plastic, smashing the robot arm completely. The light went out; Dean would be released.

Then they tased him.

Sam went down under a pack of soldiers, who piled all their weight on him and got him in grips he struggled to get free of. His body shook and twitched with electricity; someone was shouting; Sam yelled for his brother.

***

“Wait, wait!” Steve yelled, as the asset sprinted from the room, knocking down security like they were paper. He could see the medical staff, and Bruce, and the brother, and his stomach sank as he realised what was about to happen.

The man who’d threatened to kill him, who’d killed the doctor and torturer who’d hurt and threatened his brother - that man would kill everyone here. He was fast, strong, the manacles would barely slow him down.

Bruce, however, would be forced to stop him if no-one else managed it.

Steve had a single moment to exchange alarmed looks with Natasha, before she followed Hill in Sam’s wake. Bucky went after them, and Steve threw an order of “Stay here!” over his shoulder to Tony.

Fortunately, as Steve crossed the room he saw Bruce retreating back to one corner of the lab, away from the fight. Bruce met Steve’s look with wide eyes and a clenched jaw, but nodded - the Hulk was fine, then, under control.

Steve reached the fight just as the asset smashed the scanner, but he didn’t see the taser until it was too late. The asset disappeared quickly under a pile of seven of their most militarised medical personnel, and it was too crowded with medical equipment and soldiers for Steve to get near him.

He shoved his way in anyway, ordering their security staff to step aside so he could get to the centre of this fight. Everyone was shouting, and in the din his soldiers couldn’t hear him well enough to follow orders.

The pile of soldiers on the asset suddenly bucked, and Sam shoved upwards, to his feet. He’d managed it even though he was still manacled, and he looked panicked and furious. He knocked out two soldiers in quick succession using the heavy metal cuffs still on his wrists, then managed to get hold of one of their batons. He fought fast and smart, with sharp swings of the baton, and head-butted or kicked every soldier that approached his back or unguarded side.

Dean had rolled off the scanner and joined the fight on the other side of the shattered machine, also defending himself with a stolen baton despite his single eye and the tremor visible in his body. He attacked like a snake, with quick economical blows. Sam, meanwhile, kept shoving the semi-conscious soldiers he was done with into Steve’s path, to keep him occupied and unable to get closer to Sam.

“Sam, you need to _stop_ ,” Steve yelled. “Dean is fine, no-one was trying to hurt him.”

Sam’s lip curled in anger. He drew his manacled arms back and hurled the baton at Steve. Steve ducked away easily, and the baton whizzed past him, shattering some equipment on the bench behind him. The soldiers closed in while Sam was distracted, wrestling him to the ground again. Dean attacked, and Steve refused to let this continue.

“Hey, hey!” Steve yelled, pissed, wading in so he could at least pull Bucky out before he retaliated for Sam’s attack on Steve.

Suddenly a gunshot punched loudly through the melee, and everyone froze. It was Hill; she’d fired into the piece of medical machinery Sam had smashed. When she had everyone’s attention, she pointed the gun at a soldier who was kneeling on Sam’s back with a baton braced under his windpipe.

“Get off of him,” she said, dangerously calm. Her voice cut through the silence like a knife.

Tension in the room spiked. The soldiers stopped fighting, and then tentatively raised their guns at the threat. Hill ignored them, and kept her attention on the soldier on Sam.

The soldier didn’t obey her. Instead, he looked at Steve, and then at Tony, who’d raced in, gauntlets raised.

“Do it. Let him go,” Steve ordered. Sam was visibly struggling to breathe, but he hadn’t tried to fight them off him again. He’d obviously calmed down, and hopefully he’d start cooperating again.

The soldier, however, looked _betrayed_ by Steve’s order. “Captain, he tried to attack you,” he began. He seemed oblivious to the way Dean pushed through the pack of soldiers to loom next to Hill and glare at him.

Steve saw Dean’s fists clench around the weapons he’d stolen, and even with one eye and injuries littering his body, he looked _dangerous_.

“And I’ve told you to release him!” Steve ordered again, his voice tight with anger.

Before the soldier could hesitate further, Bucky took matters into his own hands. He shoved one of the other soldiers out of the way, then clamped one hand down on the soldier’s shoulder to hold him in place while he pinched the nerve cluster on the soldier’s elbow with the other hand. The soldier released his grip on the baton with a gasp of pain, rearing back in Bucky’s grip.

Sam gasped for breath as the pressure on his throat was released. It felt like the entire room took a breath with him.

“I’d like to know what the hell is going on here,” Hill said, her voice full of controlled anger. “Since when is this how the Avengers treat prisoners?” She kept her gun on the soldier, but swung her glare to encompass Steve, Tony and Natasha.

“This should have been a routine medical exam,” Steve snapped. “They had no reason to attack us,” he said, glancing between Sam and Dean.

“Fuck you,” Sam shot back, wheezing. He shoved upwards, almost tipping the soldier on top of him off into Bucky. This time he didn't get quite the right traction with his manacled hands, and the soldier slammed him into the floor again.

The soldier snatched up his dropped baton and raised it over Sam’s head. Before he could strike, Bucky yanked the man backwards off balance. He dragged him off Sam and manhandled him over to one side of the room, pinning him to the wall with his metal arm. Under Bucky’s glare, the solder dropped the baton and raised his empty hands, finally cowed.

Hill tracked the soldier with her gun, until she’d confirmed he was neutralised. Then she snapped at Steve, “I know you think these men are criminals, but you did just rescue them from a HYDRA lab, Steve. You could at least treat them like POWs.”

Steve bristled under the accusation, but ordered, “All of you, weapons down. Back off.”

The rest of their security staff abandoned their defensive positions and skirted past Bucky to join their baton-happy colleague.

Sam pushed up off the floor as soon as he was free, and backed away from the soldiers with Dean, who’d come forwards to help him up. The two of them looked furious and still ready to fight; they retreated towards the wall and watched everyone with suspicion.

Steve was angry as well, but also confused. Before he could ask any of the many, many questions he had, Hill said angrily, “Bruce, I’d like you to explain _exactly_ what you were doing in here.”

“It’s a _scan_ ,” Bruce replied. He’d come out of the corner when the situation got a little less fraught, and he seemed calm enough, if defensive and worried. “We were looking for implants, tracking chips, anything that could cause immediate problems. The machine is non-invasive--”

“--and cost two million dollars, thank you very much,” Tony interrupted. “It doesn’t do _anything_ that would provoke that kind of response,” he spat out, glaring at the brothers.

“So why did it?” Hill shot back. “What exactly did you _do_?” Steve noticed she’d deliberately put herself between the brothers and the Avengers, and didn’t re-holster her gun. She also didn’t seem at all concerned about having her back to their two dangerous prisoners, who lurked angrily in their corner, stripped of their exhaustion and despair by adrenaline from the fight.

“Nothing!” Bruce replied. “None of the staff did anything other than what was agreed on. Dean just...started screaming,” he added, eyeing Dean uneasily. Dean’s single eye fixed on him, expression unreadable.

“Who the fuck knows what would provoke those two psychos into violence?” Tony said.

“Tony!” Steve said, as Hill began, “They aren’t psychopaths--”

“ _They literally just tried to kill us_ ,” Tony interrupted again.

“No they didn’t,” Natasha interjected.

Everyone stared at her in surprise. She had spent the fight getting the medical staff out of the way, and Steve wasn’t surprised that her perspective had allowed her to notice something no-one else had.

“They weren’t trying to kill anyone,” she repeated calmly. “They were defending themselves. I’m not sure what from, since no-one actually attacked them,” she added, side-eying the brothers. “But their reactions were more controlled than I would have expected.”

Steve frowned, studying the brothers. Even when he’d provoked Sam enough to directly attack him, Steve had been able to tell the baton was aimed at his shoulder, not his centre mass. Or his face. And Dean had fought to disarm and disable, not to kill.

Neither of them had killed, even though now they were arguably more capable of it than they’d been when they gunned down a diner full of people. They’d been panicked and desperate, and they hadn’t killed anyone.

“Oh yeah, they’re great examples of _control_ ,” Tony said dryly, oblivious to Steve’s realisation.

Hill clenched her jaw, then turned her head slightly towards the brothers. “Sam, Dean. Care to elaborate on what just happened?” she asked calmly.

They glared out at everyone and didn’t respond immediately. Their postures were still defensive, and they stood close together to cover each other’s blind spots.

Eventually, Sam said, “I tried to tell you we didn’t want any more doctors. It isn’t my fault you didn’t listen.”

Tony’s mouth dropped open. Silence reigned for a long moment.

Then Bruce spoke up and said, “Your brother gave us permission for everything we did.” He sounded confused.

Sam clenched his jaw, and looked like he was about to say something. But his eyes shifted towards Dean for a moment, and he stubbornly repeated, “I tried to tell you.”

For his part, Dean stayed silent. His face was blank in a way that Steve recognised from Bucky, in the early days after he came in from the cold.

“Given the footage of you two, I suppose we should be grateful you held back,” Tony said bitterly.

“Stark, I told you, that footage isn’t real. We have proof that the killing spree wasn’t them--” Hill interjected, but Tony interrupted her.

“It fucking looks exactly like them, Hill,” Tony hissed angrily. “What the hell kind of proof could explain that?”

Hill regarded him steadily, and paused for a long moment before she responded, putting careful thought into her response to Tony’s accusations.

“I’ve already told you we investigated them,” she began, “and that we followed-up a few times after the initial investigation closed. We knew their behaviour patterns, we knew how they operated. I’m talking about _years_ of monitoring. When the news came through about the killing spree, we sent agents in to investigate because of how _extremely_ out-of-character it was.” She paused for a moment, to let that sink in.

“What we uncovered proves beyond a doubt that they were not responsible for what happened. They were framed, and we uncovered video footage that proves it. I can go into more detail but we’d prefer it if you saw the evidence first hand,” she finished.

Steve studied her. She’d lied to them in the past - she was damn good at it - but she seemed genuine now. He exchanged a glance with Natasha, who told him with her slightly widened eyes that she also found Hill’s apparently honest promises a surprise.

Tony still seemed angry, but for the first time, he seemed to register that Hill might actually know something he didn’t know. “You--” Tony hesitated, then stopped. He looked at the brothers, his brain visibly working overtime. “Brainwashing? The files said HYDRA didn’t have them back then,” he theorised.

“HYDRA wasn’t involved. It’s more complicated than that,” Hill replied. “Before now, you weren’t need-to-know, but now you are. I contacted Coulson as soon as you told me you had the brothers, and he’s authorised your access to all of the materials we have.”

“Coulson knows about this?” Steve asked, surprised.

“Coulson and Fury were involved in the original investigation,” Hill explained. “They were also responsible for the decision to close it without making contact or hindering the Winchesters’ activities. They’ve overseen every subsequent investigation, and they’re both fully aware of what the brothers are and are not capable of.”

Behind her, both the brothers were listening carefully. Steve wondered briefly what these two could possibly be involved in that would garner Hill, Coulson, _and_ Fury’s unquestioning support. More importantly, their mandate to leave the brothers to their business. That seemed very unusual, especially for Fury.

Hill went on. “Someone from Coulson’s team is retrieving all the documentation we have, and the proof, and bringing it here. Coulson has asked me to stay with the brothers until then to ensure their safety.”

Steve crossed his arms, considering. He could feel Tony’s eyes on him, waiting for a verdict. “What’s the ETA on the evidence?” he finally asked.

“Early tomorrow morning,” Hill said.

Steve studied the brothers, weighing the options in his mind. “Fine. We’ll meet tomorrow morning, all of us together, and we’ll review the information Tony has gathered, and then your proof. Based on the outcomes, we’ll discuss what’s to be done.”

Hill considered him. “And until then?”

“I’d like the brothers to remain in the Tower, preferably in a room with security measures. You can remain with them if you want, but I’d prefer it if they didn’t leave the building until we work this out.”

“It’s not safe--” Hill began.

“We’ll keep them as safe as we can,” Steve promised. “Secure rooms, limited contact with anyone before the meeting tomorrow. No more medical treatment.” He paused, then added, “Tony will cover his tracks, and our personnel,” he said, letting his eyes run over the Avengers security staff, “Will keep their hands off and their mouths shut.”

A small amount of tension relaxed from Hill’s face. The security staff shifted awkwardly.

“Deal,” she agreed. Behind her, the brothers bristled and glowered, but when Steve met Sam’s eyes, he nodded grimly. Steve also looked at Tony, who rolled his eyes and waved a hand in reluctant acceptance.

Finally, Hill holstered her gun. “Well then. I’m taking these men into my custody effective immediately. I’ll notify you if I receive any further information from Coulson’s messenger.” She stepped back, gesturing for the brothers to pass before her, keeping herself between them and the security staff still penned in by Bucky.

“I think they should be monitored, at least,” Tony said, irritated. “Preferably by someone slightly less biased,” he added bitterly, glaring at Hill.

“So monitor them,” she replied, businesslike. “It’s your Tower, Tony. Jarvis can alert you if they so much as breathe funny.”

Tony clenched his jaw, but suddenly Bucky said, “I’ll do it.”

Everyone stared at him. “What?” Tony was visibly startled.

“I’ll supervise them. I’ll watch the camera feed, or I’ll stand guard outside,” he said, voice and face both unreadable, even to Steve.

Tony seemed suspicious as well. “To protect us, or to protect them?”

Bucky met his gaze unflinching, and after a moment, he simply said, “Both.”

“I’ll go with you,” Natasha offered. She didn’t meet Steve’s questioning look, but he assumed she’d gather as much information as she could and share it with him later.

“Fine,” Hill agreed, after a searching glance at Natasha. “I’ll take them to one of the secure suites. As long as that’s acceptable to you, of course?” she said to Stark, raising an eyebrow.

Tony curled his lip, but nodded. The suites she was talking about could be heavily surveilled, were alarmed inside and out, and had, among other things, kept Loki imprisoned and relatively pacified the last time they’d been forced to deal with him. They were much nicer than the reinforced cells in the basement, but almost as secure.

“Sam, Dean, if you could head to the elevators,” Hill said to the brothers, even as she kept her eyes trained on Stark and the Avengers.

Hesitant and clearly still suspicious of a trap, the brothers allowed her to guide them out. Bucky and Natasha followed. The elevator doors closed on them, and they were gone.

Silence fell in the half-destroyed medical lab, until Tony said, “What the fuck just happened?”

“Put a pin in it for a second, Tony,” Steve ordered, and turned his attention to the medical staff and the security team.

They were worse-for-wear. Some of the security staff were still unconscious. Steve eyed the group who’d subdued Sam Winchester for a moment, then said, “All right, listen up.”

“In a moment, you’re all going to head through into the larger medical facility for treatment,” he said, meeting their eyes in turn. “When you do, you will not mention the names of the men that did this to you. You will not talk about them. You will not gossip amongst yourselves, and you will not ask or answer any questions. You will all remember the non-disclosure agreements you signed when you began working for the Avengers, and you will remember that our security depends on all of you. Understood?”

The medical staff nodded willingly, and Steve waited until all the security staff did the same.

Then he walked a little closer to the soldier who’d wielded the baton against Sam. “I’d like you to explain why you failed to carry out a direct order.”

The soldier hesitated for a second, then said, “Sir, before you landed here this morning, Mr Stark briefed us. When I saw the footage of their killings, I just thought--He _attacked_ you. I couldn’t think you meant it.” His posture was tense, and he swallowed nervously.

“I don’t give orders I don’t mean,” Steve told him. “You were using excessive force on a prisoner, and you didn’t respond when told to stop. You’re suspended until we can review the situation.”

The soldier’s mouth tightened unhappily, but he nodded.

Steve dismissed them, and watched as the combined security and medical staff filed out of the lab, towards the other medical facilities.

“Little harsh, don’t you think?” Tony said, appearing beside him.

“What happens the next time he hesitates? I’m all for independent thought in the military, Tony, but it’s not like I asked him to betray his country.” Then it occurred to Steve to ask, “How much footage did you show them?”

“Not all of it,” Tony replied. Then he added, “Actually, everything I showed them is on YouTube. It’s all publicly accessible, available for anyone to see.”

Steve filed that away, as Bruce said, “Do you think Hill’s right? Were they framed?”

“If they were, I want to know who did it and _how_ ,” Tony said, sounding baffled. “Seriously, everything I’ve found out about these two, from the spree killings to their damn grave-robbing career, there’s enough evidence scattered around to make them look utterly and completely guilty, and capable of _anything_. I have no idea what SHIELD could possibly have that outweighs all of it.”

“Whatever it is, if Coulson, Hill _and_ Fury think it’s enough to keep them out of jail, it must be pretty convincing,” Bruce said thoughtfully. “HYDRA aside, none of them are easy to fool. And I don’t think even Fury would have let them go free for any reason if they really were spree killers.”

“I disagree, I think with Fury everything is in context,” Tony commented, “However, I guess I know what you mean.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then winced. “Jesus, though, guys, that bank footage. And the _diner_.”

He sounded genuinely distressed, and so Bruce said gently, “Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Yeah, but--” Tony began, but Steve interrupted him.

“Leave it until later, Tony,” he suggested. “Jarvis will tell you if the brothers try anything, or if Hill seems to be behaving strangely. Natasha’s there, she can watch what goes on.”

 _Bucky’s there too_ , he thought. What effect would all this confusion have on him?

“I think the best you can do is look at the evidence,” Bruce said, interrupting Steve’s train of thought. He looked a little lost in thought for a moment, then blinked and said to Tony, “Bring all the information you have, and see what they give us. If they can refute everything, and it turns out they’re not the bad guys, be open to it.”

Tony made a face, but nodded.

“I think I’ll set up the debrief for about 10.30,” Steve announced. “Tony, can you show me a copy of their criminal records? I want to see this footage everyone keeps talking about, too.”

Tony grimaced, but said, “Sure thing, Cap, let’s go take a look. Bruce, wanna come too?”

“No, I don’t want to see that again.” He still looked thoughtful, like he was turning something over in his mind. He walked with them out of the lab towards the elevators, and then admitted, “I want to take a quick look at the data from HYDRA before we debrief. There’s something I want to check on.”

“Cryptic,” Tony said approvingly. Two of the elevators opened at once. “See you later, then.”

Steve nodded to Bruce as he left in the other elevator, going down. He and Tony went up, towards Tony’s workshop, and as the elevator doors closed, the despairing look on the asset’s face when Steve read out the charges rose up in his mind.

He had so many questions about all of this. About SHIELD, about this supposed proof, about what these two men really did. Hill hadn’t really explained anything, Steve realised. They were taking it on faith that she was telling the truth, and these men deserved to be freed.

She had a point about their treatment so far, though. Steve had been thinking of what Tony told him in the jet - about spree killings, murder, kidnapping, _grave desecration_. He’d somehow let that overtake the fact that they’d rescued these men from a HYDRA torture chamber.

He couldn’t let that happen again. There was a lot to consider - a lot of angles, and things Steve and the others would need to know, to make sure they made the right decisions about these men. Steve trusted Tony’s ability to find the truth; hopefully whatever Hill brought them would be verifiable.

***

Bruce, meanwhile, was in an elevator going down to his apartment. “Hey, Jarvis?”

“Yes, Dr Banner?”

“Do you have footage of everything that just happened in the lab?”

“Yes, Dr Banner.”

“And you’ve got access to all the files we got from the lab at HYDRA, right?”

“Yes, Sir finds HYDRA’s files easy to break into these days, given how many other facilities we’ve infiltrated and how often we’ve encountered their encryptions and failsafes. He gave me a sanitised, secure copy almost an hour ago.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “Good. I’ve got a hunch, and there’s something I want to look for in HYDRA’s files. I could use your help.”

“Certainly, Dr Banner, I’d be happy to.”


	5. Chapter 5

In a strange mirror of an earlier moment, Barnes removed Sam’s manacles in the elevator. Sam nodded stiffly, distrust still simmering beneath the surface, and took charge of Dean, who was passing out on his feet, crashing as the adrenaline from the fight subsided. Sam knew his body was also struggling to heal his injuries, draining his energy reserves. He eased Dean’s arm over his shoulders and supported him as the elevator descended.

Hill watched him closely, and Sam tried to keep his face calm and neutral. Under the surface, his skin was crawling and his shoulders were so tense it was painful.

His worst fears had been realised. He’d known they wouldn’t be safe until they could escape, but he’d never dreamed that the Avengers would be anything like HYDRA.

Stark and Banner had said it was a mistake, but Sam didn’t know what to believe. And now Hill had taken custody of them; she said she could prove they were not killers. He didn’t know whether to believe that, either.

Sam kept his senses on alert, and braced himself for an attack as the elevator slowed and stopped. The doors slid open; there was no-one there. Nothing happened.

He flinched back as the Black Widow and Hill stepped out into the hallway, waiting for him. “The suite you’ll be staying in is down this hallway,” Hill said. “It’s not far. Do you want help?”

He didn’t reply, and kept a death-grip on Dean. The last time he’d cooperated with them, Dean had ended up in that so-called scanner. There could be more medical equipment on this floor.

Barnes, who’d been hovering nearby, said, “It’s fine. You can go with them.”

“Yeah? That’s what you said last time,” he gritted out, his jaw clenching. But he re-settled Dean’s arm over his shoulder and helped him out of the elevator. What choice did they have?

Hill led them along a corridor, pausing every so often to let Sam and Dean catch up. Then she stopped and opened a door. “This is it,” she said, glancing at them before she went inside.

Sam braced himself. Their new cell, their ‘secure suite’. Would it be doctors or jailers this time? When would they restrain him again? Dean was still pretty out of it, hopefully they would just lock them up and let them rest.

Black Widow stepped aside at the doorway so Sam could maneuver Dean past her, and Sam’s back itched as he was forced to let her stay behind him. The suite began with a short hallway, after which Sam stepped out into the main room.

The move from shade into sunlight blinded him for a moment, and he tensed - this would be it, this would be the moment when someone attacked.

But then his vision adjusted, and he had to stop and stare.

It wasn’t a cell. It couldn’t even be called a _room_.

The suite had an open-plan lounge and dining area, with a kitchen off to one side and several other doors that probably led to bedrooms. All the decor matched, in neutral tones with a luxurious edge. It was like a hotel, somewhere expensive.

All of that was peripheral information; Sam’s attention was immediately arrested by the source of the sunlight, which was the floor-to ceiling window on one side of the apartment, and the unbelievable view outside.

New York City, early morning. The buildings, the streets teeming with people. The sky, and in the distance, the horizon. Sam’s throat caught, and his head spun.

It was just so... _open_. It made him feel like an alien, and for the first time, it really struck him that they were _out_. Out of the lab, out from underground. They weren’t free, but they were less trapped and _that sky_.

It had been months. Sam didn’t know how long he’d been kept prisoner, when all he’d seen were the walls of his cell, the lab, or the chamber, but he knew it had been months. He’d thought he was going to die down there. _God_ , he’d missed the sky.

Beside him, Dean twitched, and Sam hefted him up a little higher. “Dean, look. You have to look at this,” he said urgently. His voice was hoarse with emotion, and he knew the others were still watching him, but he didn’t really give a shit. His attention was on his brother, who was groggily opening his single working eye and reluctantly trying to focus.

Sam watched as Dean’s eye widened and he inhaled sharply when he realised what he was looking at. The sheer relief, even reverence, on Dean’s face was painful for Sam to see - so good it hurt.

“Not bad, huh?” Sam said, watching Dean look avidly at the view. His brother made a noise in the back of his throat, and for the first time in months, Sam wanted to laugh. He couldn’t, but he wanted to.

Dean sagged against him, and they swayed on their feet. Sam took a deep breath, and tried to pull his focus back to their current circumstances.

“What is this place?” he managed, not sure what kind of answer he was hoping for. He was reeling from the emotional rollercoaster, and had to stifle a wave of gratitude to these people, their new jailers. He tried to rein it in, and concentrate on the situation.

Hill had been watching their reactions to the room, but her voice was unreadable when she said, “This is a secure suite of rooms. They’ve been built to withstand infiltration and attack, so you’ll be safe here until we can work things out with Captain Rogers and the team.”

“We’re still under arrest,” Sam said, glancing back at the view. It wasn’t really a question.

“Yes, you are,” Hill confirmed. “If you try to go anywhere, it’ll raise questions, and possibly alarms. These rooms are built to keep people in as well as out. But you’ll be safe here for now, and as soon as the Avengers understand who you are, we’ll be able to negotiate your release.”

Sam went back to staring out the windows. “You sound confident about that,” he said, shifting Dean’s weight.

“I am,” Hill replied bluntly. “We have proof, Sam. I wasn’t bluffing, upstairs.”

“Right,” he remembered. He mulled over their options, closing his eyes for a moment against the sunlight.

What was the plan again? _Don’t get separated. Escape. Jungles if necessary_.

Bottom line was, they had no choices right now. So he nodded, allowing her to think he was pacified by her promises of clemency. It didn’t matter; there wasn’t anything he could do about it right now, and Dean needed somewhere to crash. These rooms would have to do. Sam would just have to stay on guard.

He finally tore his eyes away from the windows, shifting Dean’s weight uncomfortably. “Where would you like us to stay?”

“Wherever you’d like,” Hill replied, but the question prompted Barnes to move through the suite, opening doors and checking all the rooms off the main lounge.

“This one has a bed,” he reported.

Sam nodded, and helped Dean walk across the suite. Barnes went back into the room ahead of them, and Sam could hear a few faint sounds as he and Dean made slow progress. Then a toilet flushed.

Barnes came back out. “It’s clear. You can rest in there.”

Sam eyed him warily, but nodded his thanks as they passed.

The room held a huge king-sized bed, built-in wardrobes, an ensuite bathroom, and had enough extra space for a couple of armchairs, a breakfast table and chairs, and several potted plants. It was almost a luxury mirror of their standard motel rooms, except for the floor-to-ceiling windows and that unbeatable view out over New York City. Sam tried not to get distracted by it again, and focused on lowering Dean to sit on one of the beds.

Hill came in behind them, paying close attention to Dean’s exhausted condition. Barnes lurked in a corner away from the windows, and Black Widow hovered near the doorway.

“This might seem like a stupid question given what just happened, but are you absolutely sure I can’t get you two a doctor?” Hill offered. “I can get someone I trust.”

Sam bristled, stepping between her and Dean, who’d tensed up in alarm as she spoke.

“Thanks, but no,” Sam replied after a moment, trying to stay calm. “I can do this myself.”

Hill nodded. “If you’re sure.”

Sam forced his shoulders to relax, and glanced down at his brother. “Some first aid supplies would be helpful,” he conceded, and she nodded again. Barnes left silently, exchanging a look with Black Widow as he went that made her normally controlled expression go even more unreadable.

Sam let Hill help him pull a chair around in front of Dean, between the two beds. He sat carefully in front of his brother, hyperaware of making himself vulnerable while he checked on Dean. But they all kept their distance, retreating to the periphery of the room, so Sam let himself get a little distracted by Dean’s injuries.

He started with Dean’s feet, flexing them carefully. The injuries were slightly swollen, but healing well, and they weren’t bleeding. Sam was familiar with the implement that’d made the wound - a slender metal spike with a razor-sharp point, that could pin a body part to a particular kind of table. They’d put some through Sam’s hands once, and longer ones through his shoulders. The spikes weren’t too wide, and had no jagged edges or serration, so the wounds usually healed cleanly.

The other bruises and burns on Dean’s body were healing, too. Sam shifted his chair closer and cupped Dean’s jaw in one hand, to peer into his brother’s mouth, tilting his head to catch the light in the right place. The wound in the back of Dean’s throat was red, but it wasn’t bloody and he seemed able to swallow fairly easily. Then Sam moved to the eye; he didn’t try to open it, but he checked the swelling. The eyelid seemed less puffy, and the bruising had deepened from red to purple already.

“Alright, looks good,” he muttered, and Dean pinched him on the arm lightly.

Barnes re-appeared in the doorway with an enormous first aid kit. Sam raised his eyebrows at the size of it, but Barnes didn’t respond, just rested it on the bed next to Dean and returned to the corner Sam suspected had the best line of sight to the exits.

In the back of Sam’s mind, he wondered fleetingly whether these people were likely to poison any of the medical supplies. He couldn’t think of a way they’d benefit, though, and there had to be easier ways to tranquilise or kill them. The supplies were probably safe enough to use. He picked out some gauze, and turned back to Dean.

The visible part of the device in Dean’s mouth was about the size of a quarter, but almost a quarter-inch thick, and lay flat on his tongue. It had several tiny latches and grooves in the top, and Sam knew it could be locked onto the throat hook he’d already removed. The hook latched onto the helmet, and the whole system immobilised the prisoner, using pain to pacify.

This device was the last part left, and Sam was desperate to get Dean free of it. But it wouldn’t be easy; Sam knew what removal was like, from experience, and this time they weren’t locked into the chair or restrained on a table.

Sam caught his brother’s eye and raised an eyebrow in Barnes’ direction. Dean stiffened up, frowned, then reluctantly nodded.

“I need your help,” Sam told Barnes. “I need you to hold him while I do this.”

“What--” Hill said, watching in surprise as Barnes, without a word, came up to the bed. He rested one knee on the mattress behind Dean and paused, waiting for Sam to give the word.

“He’s about to grab you,” Sam warned his brother. Dean nodded, but still got a look like he wanted to scream when Barnes touched him.

Barnes held the sides of Dean’s face carefully, the same way he had in the chamber at HYDRA’s base. Sam looked them over, and shook his head. “He needs to be more secure than that.”

Barnes hesitated, then got both knees on the bed, kneeling right behind Dean. He braced Dean’s head against his shoulder, wrapped one arm across Dean’s chest, and placed his other hand across Dean’s forehead. It meant Dean’s entire body was braced, and could be held still and supported while Sam removed the device.

Sam nodded at Barnes. “Thanks, that’s good.” He guided Dean’s hands to grip on to each of Barnes’ arms, so he had something to hold onto.

He gave Dean a wad of gauze. “For the blood,” he told him.

“Okay, are you ready?” he asked them both, including Barnes the question.

They nodded, and Dean visibly steeled himself.

Sam took Dean’s jaw firmly in one hand, Dean’s long, ragged beard bristling unfamiliarly under his hand. He reached carefully into Dean’s mouth, and pressed two latches on the top of the metal piece together, then twisted.

Dean screamed hoarsely as the metal spikes that had drilled through his tongue and into his jaw, into the ridge under his teeth, reversed their path, back into the tiny device. His body bucked involuntarily, trying to escape. Barnes held him firmly, and Sam kept hold of his jaw, trying to make sure the device was steady and nothing tore Dean’s mouth more than it had to.

The whining noise of the mechanism stopped, indicating the spikes had fully retreated. Sam prised Dean’s jaw open and pulled his bloodied hand out, bringing the device out with it. His fingers were covered in teeth marks. Barnes, his eyes wild, held on to Dean as he gasped for breath.

Sam dropped the device on the bedside table, and helped Barnes guide Dean down towards the pillow so he could lie down. Dean was shaking, coughing blood into the gauze Sam had given him, and his face was creased with pain. Barnes still looked a little panicked.

“Will he be alright?” Hill asked urgently.

Sam ignored her, focusing all his attention on Dean. He laid one hand on Dean’s shoulder, careful of the bruises, and ran his other hand gently over Dean’s forehead, over his lank, long hair. Dean’s functioning eye was screwed tight against the pain, but he was taking deep, measured breaths and seemed to be coming back from it.

Sam looked up, to find Barnes looking down at them, his eyes big and dark with something unspoken and horrified. When he met Sam’s gaze, though, his emotions disappeared under a mask, and backed up, off the bed, quickly distancing himself. He didn’t look back as he pushed past the Black Widow to leave the room.

“Dean needs to sleep,” Sam told Hill, his voice hoarse and exhausted. “We both need to eat something. A change of clothes would be good.” He was starting to feel heavy and slow, and he needed them to go.

“Of course,” Hill said, “We’ll let you rest. I’m going to stay out here in the lounge, and I’ll let you know if I’m going to leave the rooms. Barnes will come back, and Natasha will stay until the Avengers briefing.”

She was warning him, Sam realised, and looked up to meet her calm gaze. It was a message; who would be around, why he shouldn’t drop his guard.

In confirmation, she went on to say, “You might remember Mr Stark said that Jarvis would be monitoring you. Jarvis is an AI that runs the building.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. “...An AI?” Sam said hoarsely. “Like.” He didn’t know how to go on.

“Jarvis, could you introduce yourself, please?” she asked the air.

“Certainly, Commander Hill,” came a soft British voice, out of nowhere. Sam startled, badly, and Dean was immediately tense under his hands. “Sam and Dean Winchester, I am Jarvis. I assist the Avengers and Mr Stark, and I control the building’s facilities and services.”

Sam’s heart wanted to pound out of his chest, and his fight or flight instincts began screaming at him again. He tried to keep his voice steady, though, when he said, “So you’ll be watching us around the clock, is that right? Great. Haven’t had enough of that lately.” He couldn’t hide the anger and bitterness. Feelings of imprisonment settled over his shoulders again like a heavy blanket, and Dean’s hand was trembling as it gripped his arm.

Hill watched them, calmly assessing.

She said, “Jarvis will change the temperature and lighting for you, if you ask. He’ll pass on any messages from Stark or the other Avengers. He might answer other questions about the tower as well, unless Tony has told him not to or if it’s a security risk. Otherwise, he’s very hands-off, and I expect you’ll get used to it.” She was businesslike, now that the warning had been delivered and understood.

Sam grimaced. “Alright,” he managed. “Thank you for explaining that.”

Hill nodded, and said, “I’ll go and arrange those things for you.”

Sam stared after her as she left. An AI monitoring the whole building. Fuck, what the hell had they walked into?

Even when they were alone, they wouldn’t be alone. How was he going to get them out of this?

There had to be an opportunity. He’d find one. Or Dean would, when he was back on his feet. There had to be a way out of the building, and then this was New York, they’d disappear into the crowds.

Sam looked down at his brother and tried to breathe, to calm himself. Dean had his eye closed, but he was still awake. He had one hand clasping Sam’s arm, and the fingers of his other hand were still holding the gauze to his mouth.

“It’s gonna be okay, Dean,” Sam told him, keeping his voice low. “I promise.”

Dean grimaced, opening his eye to meet Sam’s gaze, and raising his eyebrow in a resigned sort of way. Sam agreed; they were so screwed.

At least they were alive. They were out of the labs, and Dean was going to heal. Sure, they were under arrest, and probably headed for supermax, but they were _out_. Sam couldn’t believe it.

He gave himself one more moment, then said, “Alright, let me take one more look before you go to sleep.”

Dean huffed, and he relaxed a little more into the mattress. Too tired to protest, he opened his mouth and let Sam peer in.

The wounds through his tongue and spaced along his gums looked angry, and were oozing blood, but at least the edges of each puncture were fairly neat, not ragged or torn. Sam was suddenly swept away in a memory of what the helmet felt like, and felt Dean grip his arm as he clenched his teeth and tried not to lose it.

Sam cleared his throat, and tried to distract himself by rummaging in the first aid kit for what he needed for Dean. He had to take a trip into the ensuite, and his heart was in his throat as he left Dean unattended. When he got back to the bed, his hands were shaking, almost spilling the water he’d gotten.

When he could, he made Dean sit up halfway, to rinse his mouth out with water, spitting it pink-tinged with blood into a plastic kidney bowl. It was painful for Dean, and he had trouble swallowing around the wound in his throat, but he finished the glass and wordlessly asked Sam for more.

Once Dean was done drinking, Sam padded his whole mouth with clean, sterile gauze, pressing it gently against his tongue and against his teeth. “I won’t leave this here while you sleep, I just want it there for a while.” Dean nodded, closing his mouth around it to hold it there so it could absorb the blood trickling from the wounds. Sam took the piece of gauze Dean had already bled on and left it on the bedside table.

He carefully, carefully cleaned the area around Dean’s injured eye with alcohol wipes, then taped a pad of gauze over it, making sure it was protective but loose enough not to press on the wound. He made Dean raise his arms, so Sam could anoint every burn he could find with antibiotic. He even carefully sprayed his wounded feet with antiseptic and bandaged them.

Sam knew from their experiences in the lab that everything he was doing was pointless. They were resistant to infection and scarring, and given enough time Dean would heal on his own. All they needed was food and water for fuel, and time to rest and replenish their energy.

But he couldn’t leave Dean with bleeding, open wounds. He’d had to leave Dean to heal alone and untreated too many times, trapped in their cells. It’d been far too long since either one of them had the luxury of care like this. Besides, it was making Sam feel better.

“Alright, I think you’re all set,” he finally admitted. Dean watched him closely, then raised an eyebrow. Sam shook his head. “I’ll take first watch. Go to sleep.”

Dean nodded, then held up three fingers, then pointed at the clock on the wall. It was almost 9am.

Sam sighed. “Alright. I’ll wake you up at midday.”

Dean nodded again, pulled the gauze out of his mouth and crumpled it up. Sam took it, then made Dean open his mouth again so Sam could see whether the bleeding had stopped. His tongue seemed slightly swollen, but there was minimal blood in his mouth.

When Sam let him go, Dean rested his hand on Sam’s arm for a moment and met his eyes. Sam smiled again - it was still painful - and nodded. Dean finally let himself relax, and fell asleep almost immediately.

It was only then that Sam realised Dean had wrapped himself in the blanket they’d taken from the Avengers jet, and he was sleeping on top of the bed’s fancy duvet instead of under it. Sam didn’t have the heart to get him up and moving again, so he settled for flipping the other side of the duvet up over him.

Then Sam sat on the chair by the bed for a long time, tiredly staring at his brother’s face. They were alive. Sam didn’t know what would happen next, but at least Dean was alive. And he would heal.

Sam realised he was close to falling asleep and stood up, took a turn reconning the room. In the bathroom, he washed Dean’s blood off his hands, and then splashed water over his face. He stared at the sink, trying to convince himself they’d be alright.

Back in the bedroom, he gravitated towards the windows. The glass seemed darker than it had been when they first arrived, and when he investigated, and found that a glowing panel lit up in the corner of the glass when he got close enough. It seemed to manage the opacity, darkening as the sun brightened. When he experimented with the controls, the windows cleared, letting the sunlight stream in and the view of New York became more visible.

Dean made a muffled noise of protest when the light hit him, though, and Sam dialled it back down.

Sam wondered if the AI cared that he’d used the manual controls instead of asking for help, then wondered why he was wondering if an AI cared. The technology on display here in this tower was terrifying, and _everywhere_ , and Sam was no longer surprised at Frank’s horror of getting Stark’s attention. They were living in Frank’s worst nightmare right now.

Sam rubbed his hands over his face, pacing over towards Dean. What the hell were they going to do? But it was futile to try and plan, to worry over it. Maybe the AI was restricted to just the tower; if they were taken outside for any reason, maybe they’d have a better chance. They’d just have to stay alert, and be on watch for opportunities.

For now, Sam dragged one of the armchairs into Barnes’ corner, the one with the good sight lines, and sat down. From here, he could watch over Dean, keep an eye out for anyone coming in, and let the expansive view of the sky and city distract him from all the ways this room felt like a prison.

Five hours. Sam would let Dean sleep for five hours; longer than Dean had made him promise but Sam didn’t care about that particular lie. Then Dean could watch, and Sam could sleep. He just needed some sleep. By then, Dean would be healed enough and alert as well, and surely together they’d be able to come up with a plan.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve stared blankly at the screen for a moment or two.

“See?” Tony said.

Steve couldn’t answer immediately. He’d just seen the two men they’d rescued kill dozens of people, and the cold, amused looks on their faces had been chilling.

“...so when Hill says this is fake, what part do you think she means, exactly?” he finally asked.

“Honestly? No idea,” Tony admitted. “I’ve been checking the sources while you were watching, and the videos seem legit. Random users, no payments to their bank accounts, no sign of any organised activity behind any of this. If it’s a frame job, it’s fucking invisible.”

Steve mulled that over for a moment. “I guess we have to wait and see.” After another moment of thought, he added, “Natasha’s right, though. In the lab, they weren’t trying to kill us. They weren’t...they weren’t _like_ this, they haven’t _behaved_ like this,” Steve said, gesturing at the screen.

Tony didn’t argue, just shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. This, plus their very extensive FBI files, is what we’ve got.”

“Did you send these videos to the others? Have they all seen them?”

“I sent them; I don’t know if they all watched them,” Tony replied.

Steve sighed. “Okay.” He caught sight of the time in the corner of the screen. “We’d better get to the debriefing.”

The war room sat in the upper floors of Stark Tower, among the labs and overlooking the jet’s hangar. All of its walls were windows, and two of them looked out over New York. The table they used in this room was huge and round; no-one sat at the head or the foot. It had room for all of them plus about 10 more people.

Steve sat grimly in his usual place, with Tony opposite him, and waited as the others filed in.

Bruce was last, hurrying in just as Steve was about to ask Tony to find out where he was. He seemed wound up, tense and unhappy, but shook his head in response to Steve’s inquiring glance, in a way that Steve knew meant ‘I don’t want to talk about it yet’.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Steve began. “Most of you know there have been developments regarding the brothers, but I want to talk about that after we’ve wrapped up the rest of the job,” he said.

He quickly recounted everything that’d happened up to the brothers’ arrest, and then everyone else reported on their specific actions, confirming the events and explaining their own perspective. Steve listened carefully, even though he already knew most of it.

There was nothing new this time, and Natasha was the last to report in. “The data was collected with no issues, and the virus was successfully deployed. The hardware will degrade inside the RXP, so it’ll be a dead end for anyone who digs deep enough to salvage anything.”

“Good,” Steve replied. “Tell me more about the data,” he said to Tony.

“The program I gave to Natasha sent the whole package to me through a secure connection,” Tony explained. “I kept it isolated from my systems until I could run all the extra protocols, to take out all of those nasty little viruses HYDRA likes to use along with their regular security.

“Have you decrypted it yet?” Steve asked.

“Sure,” Tony nodded. “HYDRA’s encryption protocols are like child’s play at this point. Jarvis has had full access to all of it for a couple of hours now, he’s organising it for me.”

“Anything interesting?” Sam asked. “The last time we took down a cell, you found out about the White House thing.”

“Nothing yet. I haven’t had a chance to look at it closely,” Tony admitted. “I can tell you that the system in the underground lab wasn’t networked or synchronising anywhere else, so we probably have a lot of unique information. Some of the older stuff was copied in from somewhere else, and with some more time, I should be able to get a trace on where it came from.”

“Okay, does that mean we don’t have any data from the rest of the facility? The weapons manufacturing, I mean?” Steve asked.

“We don’t, but the FBI does, so we’ll have a copy as soon as Jarvis gets a minute to break in,” Tony said.

Steve grimaced, but nodded. “Add it to your to-do list. What _do_ we have, exactly? Medical files?”

“Medical files and treatment records, lab data, personnel files, requisitions, lots of security footage,” Tony listed. “Probably other stuff that we haven’t processed and identified yet. It was all heavily encoded, and the type of stuff HYDRA would never expect to see the light of day. When Jarvis is done analysing it, I’ll make sure everyone who wants it has access.”

Steve nodded, but before he could speak, Clint asked, “If we can just go back to the FBI for a second, what’s the status with General Ross?” Bruce flinched at the name, and Clint glanced at him apologetically.

Tony frowned. “No news last time I checked. Jarvis?”

“General Ross has not been contacted,” Jarvis spoke up. “I am monitoring all incoming and outgoing communications from the FBI and the ATF, and as yet all discussion has been internal.”

“The unconscious HYDRA personnel in the parking lot raised a few alarm bells, but so far they seem to think it was either in-fighting or HYDRA covering their tracks,” Tony reported.

“What happens when those guys wake up? They’re gonna know they weren’t attacked by their own people,” Sam said.

“They’re not gonna talk to the FBI about it, though,” Clint interjected. “They were torturing civilians. Even the dumbest HYDRA lackey is gonna know not to take it up with the feds.”

“Jarvis will know if any reports about a third party showing up to the FBI’s raid start to surface,” Tony offered. “But Clint’s right, they’re not gonna cooperate with the FBI, not extensively. The bigger risk is HYDRA joining the dots and somehow coming up with the right picture.”

“Eventually HYDRA is going to realise that the FBI doesn’t have their assets, and they’re going to start looking for who _does_ have them,” Sam pointed out.

“If and when they come looking, we’ll deal with it,” Clint said calmly, shrugging a little. “What’s the worst that could happen? They try to get them back?”

“Or they’ll try to trigger any unconscious suggestions they’ve implanted and the brothers will try to kill us all,” Natasha reminded them.

“If they’re sleeper agents, it’ll be in the files,” Tony said. “I think it’s far more likely that they’ll try to kill us because they want to, not because they were programmed to.”

Steve pretended he hadn’t heard that comment, moving on before anyone else could say anything. “What about your source?” he asked Natasha. “You mentioned they’d be able to secure their position and reduce the danger they were in if they had more time?”

She nodded. “Yes, they should be fine by now.”

“Good,” he said, and turned back to Tony. “You said you have personnel data? We need to track down everyone involved with the facility and the asset program. I want to know who the FBI has, who escaped, and hell, anyone who even visited that lab.”

“Already on it, Cap,” Tony said. “The security footage will help. There were cameras all over those underground labs, and in the stairway, and the hall out to the loading dock. Everyone who visited the project has been caught on camera, and Jarvis is going to isolate and match images against the HYDRA files and the FBI arrest records. And morgue intake,” he added as an afterthought.”

“I’ve already started, actually,” Jarvis said. “I’m compiling a dossier, Captain, which we’ll be able to add to our overall records of HYDRA’s activities.”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Steve began, but Natasha interrupted.

“We should ask the brothers for help,” she said. “We can ask them for contextual information, or a description of how they thought the power hierarchy worked in this facility. Or we could ask them what they remember about anyone who shows up who’s not on the books.”

Tony snorted. “I’d prefer to put my trust in Jarvis and the cameras. God knows what those two would tell you.”

Natasha ignored Tony, and said to Steve, “It could be a way in.”

Steve hmm’d, thinking, and Sam said, “A way in? A way in where?”

“She means an excuse to talk to the brothers and gather information without provoking a confrontation, or raising their guard,” Clint explained.

“It could work, Natasha, but I think we should give them a little more time to calm down first,” Steve decided. “Maybe later tonight, or tomorrow.”

Natasha nodded.

“Time to calm down? From what?” Clint asked.

Steve grimaced. “There was an incident in Medical. We’ll talk about it in a minute.” He cleared his throat.

“So, going forward, the first priority is to monitor the situation on the ground in Nebraska. I want positive IDs for all HYDRA personnel who set foot in this facility. We need to know who escaped, so we can find them.”

“We’ll get it to you ASAP, Cap,” Tony promised.

Steve nodded. “I also want to keep an eye on the situation with the HYDRA agents the FBI does have in custody - any charges, lawyers, whatever develops. We’ll work out if we need to get involved, how to handle it. I also want to know if anyone other than you shows any interest in the Winchesters. Keep an eye on who else tries to access their FBI files, make sure we know if anyone goes looking for any information about them.”

Tony nodded again, and said, “About them.”

Steve held up a hand to stop him. “The Winchesters are the next topic of conversation, I promise.” Tony acquiesced, and Steve went on. “The next priority is data. Tony, you and Jarvis will review everything, find any leads, find out where this program came from?”

Tony nodded.

“Alright. So, Tony’s doing a lot of ongoing work, we’ll have a dossier of personnel to compare with the situation in Nebraska, and either could lead to new developments, but otherwise I think we’re done. Did I miss anything?” Steve asked the table.

No-one had anything to add.

“Then we should move on to the elephant in the room,” Steve allowed, squaring his shoulders and feeling grim as he braced himself. “Let’s talk about the Winchesters.”

Silence and anticipation fell over the table.

Steve hesitated for a long moment, feeling grim and uncertain about how to proceed. Then he decided, “Tony, why don’t you explain what you first discovered about them?”

Tony nodded, apparently gratified to be able to speak his piece. “When you encountered the first asset in the parking lot, you asked me to identify him,” he began, opening a display that showed a mugshot of Sam Winchester, with information scrolling down one side. “Facial recognition didn’t ping until you’d already let them onto the jet, but it led me straight to the FBI investigation. The brother came up straight away as a known associate, and their files flagged open cases and warrants across a number of state jurisdictions.”

“Homeland Security has a couple of notes about them too,” he added, then paused. “You all heard the rap sheets when we arrested them, and I can send you all copies of the files. They’ve been on the Most Wanted lists for years, but the killing spree was the first time they really went public in a big way.”

“Has everyone watched the videos Tony sent through?” Steve asked. “ Of the diner, and the bank?”

The team looked uneasy, and one by one they all indicated they had.

“That sure was something,” Sam said, subdued. “Some pretty fucked up stuff, Steve.”

“It is,” Steve agreed. “But before we talk about it, I want to revisit everyone’s first impressions. On this job, if we discovered an asset, we were going to assess their enhancements and their mental state. I’d like to know what those first impressions were, prior to seeing the killing spree footage.”

Natasha gave him a strange look, but the others seemed thoughtful.

Sam was the first to speak. “My very first impressions? Surprisingly sane. Compared to JB, the first asset seemed coherent and mentally functional. He remembered his brother, he didn’t attack us when we offered to help him. He was violent, but by the time we’d seen the torture chamber, and that helmet thing...I mean, the way he was reacting to it all didn’t seem _surprising_.”

“You mean you thought his violence seemed appropriate to the circumstances,” Steve clarified, and Sam nodded.

“Yeah, actually, I did. He killed easily, but that just made me think he was military. I didn’t immediately think ‘psychopath’.”

“I agree,” Clint spoke up. “Before we knew about their records, I actually would have said they were law enforcement. Not military, there are some distinctive traits they didn’t have. But they did seem _trained_. And, I mean, it’s _HYDRA_. It wasn’t surprising that their prisoners would want to kill them all, you know?”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. “Natasha?”

She thought for a moment before she spoke. “As soon as we encountered the asset, I started looking for signs of brainwashing or conditioning that would mean HYDRA had turned them into sleeper agents. While we still can’t rule out the possibility that their behaviour now is some kind of programmed response to being removed from the facility,” she added slowly, “if they have been programmed, so far it’s invisible. Their behaviour seems natural, they’re emotional, they display signs of stress and vulnerability, and they exhibit care and empathy for each other that seems genuine.”

“The asset was afraid,” Clint added. “He hid it well, but he was afraid of us. He was afraid for his brother. On YouTube, though, they don’t seem afraid of anything.”

“Makes you wonder what happened to them between then and now,” Sam commented. “The change in behaviour and emotional response is massive,” he added with a frown.

Steve caught Natasha’s meaningful look, and cleared his throat. “It’s interesting that you both say that. In Medical, Maria Hill showed up. She says she has proof that the killing spree was staged, a frame-up. She says she can prove it wasn’t the two men we have in custody.”

“What?” Clint said, sitting upright in his chair in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“Apparently Fury and Coulson know about it as well,” Steve said with a shrug. “SHIELD completed some kind of investigation into the brothers years ago, and concluded that they should be left to go about their business.”

Clint looked surprised, and frowned thoughtfully. “I never heard about it,” he concluded, shrugging. He glanced at Natasha, who then looked at Steve.

“Why don’t we just run the footage of what happened after we left the hangar?” she suggested. “It’s got sound, right?”

Tony nodded, and Steve said, “There was an incident, as well. We triggered something in one of the assets, and it started a fight. You’d better see for yourselves, because I still can’t explain exactly what happened.”

Several more large displays descended from the ceiling and rotated so everyone could see a screen. Jarvis started the playback.

Even though he’d been there, Steve watched interestedly. He examined all the angles, picking out key reactions and moments, like when the assets were separated, when Hill arrived, when one asset started to scream and the fight started. He could see what Natasha meant when she said they hadn’t been trying to kill anyone.

As if he could read Steve’s mind, Sam said, “Well, that’s even more different than the shit on YouTube. They could’ve killed everyone there!” He turned to Tony. “You really don’t know what that machine was doing?”

“It wasn’t doing anything, it’s a _scanner_ ,” Tony defended, but Bruce cut in over the top of him.

“Actually, with Jarvis’ help, I was able to work out what happened,” he admitted.

Steve looked up sharply. “What did you find out.”

Bruce hesitated, then said, “It’s probably easier to show you. Jarvis, can you show the zoomed-in tape of the brother first?”

“Certainly Dr Banner,” Jarvis said smoothly. He replayed the footage of the brother, Dean, being helped onto a stretcher, which was going to be wheeled under the scanner.

“Watch his reaction just now,” Bruce said. Dean was still sitting up, and just as a nurse encouraged him to lie back, he flinched hard. Steve frowned. The nurse hadn’t touched him. He’d flinched at nothing.

“Then he goes under the scanner, and his heart rate increases drastically. He starts to scream here,” Bruce narrated, “And the staff are unable to get a response from him. The asset comes in, smashes the scanner, and the brother behaves like he’s been freed from something. His heart rate returns to a much more normal range.”

“Okay--” Steve began.

Bruce turned to him and said, “It’s a pattern. We triggered a PTSD response in the brother, and I’ve been able to identify exactly what he was remembering.”

Steve felt his stomach drop. “How? Did you go and talk to them?”

“I didn’t have to. HYDRA recorded footage of...everything. The labs, the...treatments. Jarvis, play the section we watched earlier,” Bruce said, an unhappy twist to his mouth.

Steve’s eyes unwillingly turned back to the screen, and as he watched, all the breath left his body.

The screen displayed the lab space in the lower lever of the facility, just outside the torture chamber where they’d found the brother. Onscreen, it was set up differently, with an open area with a single chair in the middle and some metal instruments on tables off to one side. There was a strange apparatus against the far wall - it looked like a flat metal autopsy table with thick glass panels around its base. It had a rectangular frame suspended over it, with various thick wires coming out of the top and trailing away out of sight.

Sam was propped up in the chair, semi-conscious and surrounded by guards. A man in a HYDRA uniform and a doctor in a lab coat stood in front of him.

He looked horrible. His hair and beard were long and unkempt, his nose was bleeding, and his eyes were unfocused. His head drooped, and the soldiers had to hold him up.

The doctor made a note on a clipboard, and nodded to a soldier. They dragged Sam up off the chair, and across the room to the apparatus.

The doctor said, “Wait!” He fetched a syringe from one of the tables, then crossed to them and injected its contents into Sam’s neck. Even semi-conscious, he flinched away in pain.

The soldiers shoved a mouth guard into Sam’s mouth and hastily strapped him down onto the autopsy table. The shot changed to an angle positioned just over his face; the apparatus hanging over the bed must have had a camera.

Several things happened at once. The glass panels around the base of the table slid upwards and fixed in place, sealing themselves to become a thick-walled tank. A transparent blue liquid began to stream down from what Steve realised were tubes, not wires, pouring onto Sam and beginning to fill the tank. A heart rate count started in a corner of the CCTV display, and showed that Sam’s heart rate was rapidly increasing.

Then Sam abruptly woke up.

His eyes darted around as he worked out where he was, then stared up into the camera, wide with fear and horror. His lips moved around the guard, but he didn’t seem able to scream, or struggle. His heart rate continued to climb, faster and faster. His eyes closed; he shivered and shuddered but his limbs, even his fingers, didn’t move; he managed to bare his teeth in a snarl around the mouth guard.

The blue liquid rose up over him, inexorably covering his face, pouring into his nose, forcing him to hold his breath.

Steve watched for the inevitable inhale, for Sam to start drowning. But he remained still, trapped like a fly in amber. The blue liquid made his skin look pale and strange - made him look dead - but his heart rate was pounding a fast, panicked tattoo on the heart monitor.

“Bruce, what the fuck are they doing to him?” Tony demanded.

“The injection was an amphetamine. The liquid is breathable, and contains a paralytic and a barbiturate. Right now, Sam can see the blue light through the liquid in front of his eyeballs but otherwise is experiencing sensory deprivation. The amphetamines and barbiturates create a mental and physical rollercoaster, but the paralytic and sensory deprivation make him unable to react or distract himself.”

As they all reeled from that information, Bruce added, “Then they leave him in there for six hours.”

“ _What??_ ” Sam exploded.

Bruce nodded, and went on. “Jarvis, please go forward to when they get him out?”

The screen jumped; the tank suddenly drained, revealing Sam’s face again. The video slowed to real-time speed just as Sam opened his eyes. They pulled the rubber guard from his mouth and then he was dragged, dripping and breathing heavily, to sit in the chair in front of the doctor and the official.

“Well, Sam?” The official asked. “How do you feel?”

Sam, shuddering and shivering, ignored him in favour of coughing up blue slime.

They waited, and when Sam finally managed to look up and focus on them, he pointedly leaned over and retched again. Steve suspected he would have vomited all over their shoes if he’d had anything left in his stomach.

“He asked you a question,” the doctor finally told Sam.

Sam grimaced, and said, “Yeah, I heard him. I feel just great,” he added in a tone that made it sound more like ‘fuck you’. He was still coughing and and shivering slightly from his experience in the tank.

“Good!” the official replied, jovially ignoring Sam’s actual response. “Have you decided to cooperate yet?”

Sam spat thoughtfully, and thought for a moment. “Go fuck yourself,” was his eventual reply.

His chest heaved, ribs stark against his skin, as they dragged him back to the tank. He fought them weakly and flinched when they injected him again, but it was obvious his limbs were still partially paralyzed. Jarvis paused the tape on a still of Sam’s panicked face as the walls of the tank rose around him again.

“There are three more rounds, in this session,” Bruce told them, “They put him in the tank five times in total, getting him out at intervals to ask him for his cooperation. The immersions don’t last for the same amount to time, either, so he isn’t able to predict how long he’ll be in there.”

“Jesus,” Steve muttered under his breath, staring up at still of Sam’s face.

“This is early in his period of imprisonment, but he’s already been enhanced, which is why he can even survive this and why he recovers from the paralytic so quickly. His mental endurance under this treatment is also...above average,” Bruce added carefully.

“What makes them stop?” Sam asked hoarsely, visibly bracing himself for the worst.

“His heart gives out. They resuscitate him, and then they wheel him off somewhere else. Probably to his cell to recover,” Bruce said, with a kind of enforced calm.

“What the fuck,” Tony said flatly.

“Wait, he doesn’t break?” Clint demanded, shocked.

“Doesn’t break, doesn’t bargain. Just keeps telling them to go fuck themselves,” Bruce told them. He took a deep breath, then added, “There are twelve other recordings of Sam undergoing this tank procedure, and at least six where Dean is subjected to the same treatment. There are...a lot of other recordings, labelled with different codes that might mean different procedures. If either of them capitulates at some point, Jarvis hasn’t found it yet.”

“And you think this tank is the reason for what happened in Medical? This is what they thought we were doing?” Steve asked, trying to focus.

Bruce nodded. “The pattern seems clear. The scanner and that tank don’t look that similar to us, but even a vague resemblance is enough to trigger this kind of thing. The colour of the light on the scanner is also about the same shade as that liquid. Dean flinched, even though no-one injected him. It’s pretty clear he was having a full flashback.”

“We really, really should have listened when they said they didn’t want medical treatment,” Steve muttered, regret sinking in over his shoulders.

But Clint was on another track. “Why are they asking?”

“Who, the brothers?” Bruce frowned.

“No, HYDRA. Why are they _asking_?” Clint said pointedly. “If he’s been enhanced at this point, they’ve already decided he’s part of the program. Why are they asking him to cooperate? Why don’t they just, you know,” he gestured vaguely over his face.

“Wipe him? Like Bucky?” Steve interjected.

“Well, yeah? I mean, these brothers remember each other. They remember themselves. They knew they were criminals before we told them. Why haven’t they been wiped?”

Steve exchanged a look with Sam and reluctantly said, “I think I can explain that.”

He steeled himself with a deep breath. “HYDRA’s assets are made using a combination of memory wipes, physical and mental enhancement, and brainwashing,” he explained carefully. “You have to balance these elements carefully to create a successful end product.”

“First the asset is wiped, then enhanced, then brainwashed, in quick succession,” he said, allowing his bitterness to seep into his voice. “If you enhance first, the brain can repair itself, and the wipes won’t take so well. You have to wipe again and again, and you risk brain damage.”

“But if you wipe first, the enhancement assumes the wiped state is the default, and it’ll heal itself to that point every time. A wiped asset can be easily managed, brainwashed into doing whatever you want. If you wait too long between any of these steps, the asset’s condition will change and the next step is difficult.”

“I assume that, with the brothers, they got something wrong. The first wipe didn’t work, or the enhancement overrode it somehow.”

He met their appalled expressions with a hard stare.

“Steve, how the hell do you know all of that?” Bruce eventually asked. “We never recovered enough data to indicate--”

“I know it because Bucky knows it,” Steve interjected, keeping his voice controlled and even. “And he told me.”

He paused for a moment, then managed to continue. “After the helicarriers, when he went after the scientists and the asset program to dismantle it, he found enough information to be able to piece together a history of the experimentation. Through trial and error, they found out what worked. Bucky destroyed the files, but then he told me about it when I asked him.”

There was another moment of horrified silence.

“And Bucky?” Clint asked, his voice hoarse. “What--”

“Bucky was enhanced while he was a POW, and then again when they rescued him from the base of the cliff,” Steve said, assuming they knew about the train. “They wiped him afterwards, it’s why they had to keep doing it. And, it’s why he still remembers himself now,” he added. _If they’d known to wipe first, he’d be gone_ , he didn’t say.

Sam blew out a huge breath. “Jesus Christ, that poor bastard.”

Steve shrugged, acting far more relaxed than he felt. “He’s doing okay, considering.” His tone was firm, and he hoped it broadcast that he wouldn’t answer any more questions about Bucky.

It seemed to work, because after a moment, Tony said, “Okay, so.” He paused; he looked a little dazed. “Okay, that’s interesting in terms of our assets.”

“Right,” Steve agreed. “HYDRA used to have machines for wiping, and maybe they couldn’t rebuild them after Bucky destroyed them. He destroyed all the information he could find, as well, so maybe he got the last copy of their schematics.”

“Which means they’re experimenting,” Natasha commented thoughtfully.

“Right. They might have tried a technique that failed, or they might have expected the torture to be more successful. The medical files will have more details.”

“Enhancement promotes increased brain function. If they wiped them first with chemicals, the enhancement might have induced their brains to heal,” Bruce commented.

Steve shrugged; until they had a chance to review the medical files more closely, it was all speculation.

“How long were they held?” Clint asked.

Jarvis provided the answer. “They seem to have had Subject A for nine months and nine days, to the point of rescue. They report discovering Subject B much later, and his time with HYDRA totals three months and eighteen days.” He paused. “The one who was mobile when you arrived in Nebraska is Subject A.”

“Sam,” Steve offered, as he turned that over in his mind. “That one’s Sam.”

Their Sam said, “Nine months can be a very long time when you’re at the mercy of assholes like that.”

“And yet they didn’t give in,” Steve pointed out, frowning. “They were still torturing them right up until we rescued them, and to me that says it never worked, they didn’t cooperate. So they didn’t give in to whatever HYDRA wanted them to do, even though HYDRA had them as bargaining chips to use against each other.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Clint protested. “If they’re merciless killers already, why put up with being tortured for months? Why not take what HYDRA offered?”

“We don’t really know the angle HYDRA was taking. Maybe whatever they wanted wasn’t something the brothers were capable of, even as hardened criminals?” Steve said.

“Or maybe Hill’s right, and they’re not serial killers,” Bruce countered.

Tension warped the atmosphere for a moment.

“Maybe they’re not.” Steve offered slowly. “But I don’t think it helps to speculate about it at this point. Until Hill’s evidence arrives, we should focus on what we actually know. Did anyone notice anything else about their behaviour? Natasha, what about when you went downstairs with them after the fight?”

“You won’t be surprised to know that they refused further medical help, and the asset removed the device from his brother’s mouth himself. They displayed signs of exhaustion, lack of trust, and suspicion of their surroundings. They were also visibly grateful to see the view out the windows, so my guess is they’ve been held underground for a very long period.”

“Okay,” Steve said hoarsely, unwillingly wondering what it would be like to suddenly see the sun, after nine months with HYDRA.

“There’s something else,” Natasha admitted. “He trusted Bucky.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked sharply.

“The only thing that matters to the two of them is each other, right?” she said, glancing at Tony for confirmation.

“Yep,” Tony said. “All the witness statements and the four different psych profiles in their FBI case file agree on that much.”

Natasha nodded and went on. “They were fresh from the brother’s traumatised reaction in Medical, and the fight that followed. When Hill or I got anywhere near them, the asset put himself in between us and his brother every time. He wouldn’t let us get within arm’s length.”

“When he needed someone to hold the brother still so he could remove the device, he chose Bucky.”

“Sam could have removed the device without help, or he could have asked Hill, who actually defended the brothers and has promised she’ll keep them out of prison. Sure, Bucky’s bigger and stronger, and physically more capable of the kind of assistance Sam needed. But he was also on the team of people who just arrested them. He is part of the group that poses an ongoing threat, so in theory Sam should have been just as wary of him.”

“But instead, he let Bucky into a position where he could more than easily have snapped the brother’s neck if he’d wanted. That tells me he trusted Bucky with his brother’s life, even momentarily. I’m not sure what it means, but it’s interesting.”

Another pause, while they thought about that.

“While we’re talking about Barnes, I’m concerned about relying on him to police these assets,” Sam said. “He could be more vulnerable to them than the rest of us, and it could be detrimental to his recovery.”

“Is there a chance it could be cathartic as well?” Bruce asked.

Sam shook his head. “Too many variables. If his well-being gets too reliant on theirs, but things go south for them, or they do turn out to be manipulative killers after all, I mean, obviously that’s a bad result. It’s risky to try and get him to make a breakthrough on this.”

Steve nodded again. “I’ll go and check in on him. If he wants to leave, I’ll stand guard for a while.”

“Technically, no-one needs to,” Tony offered. “Jarvis is monitoring them.” He gestured at a screen to his left, and a live feed of the brothers’ quarters came up on the projector. “Even with their history of escapes, I doubt they’d get far against Tower security,” he added.

On the feed, the brother was sleeping, but the asset was still awake, keeping watch. Bucky and Hill were out in the lounge; it looked like Hill had gotten a laptop and was working.

“Okay, look,” Steve managed, “the way I see it, there are two separate issues here.”

“The fact that they’re criminals, and the fact they’re tortured HYDRA assets,” Tony interjected.

“Exactly,” Steve said. “We need to make sure our original goal of wiping out the program is carried out. No matter what happens, whether we have to see the brothers imprisoned for their crimes or Hill’s proof is legitimate, we need to make sure they’ll be out of HYDRA’s reach.”

“Agreed,” Sam said, and Tony nodded.

“The brothers are weapons, too,” Clint reminded them. “If HYDRA is given more time with them, their techniques could succeed. They could break them, and then they’d have two very effective killers at their beck and call.”

“True,” Steve noted, then added, “If Hill doesn’t have proof, our priority will need to be an adequate trial and then imprisonment, while still keeping them out of HYDRA’s reach. We’ll need to find a jail they can’t break out of, and that HYDRA can’t break into.”

“And if she does have proof,” he added, “I guess we’ll owe them an apology. Maybe we can try to rehabilitate their reputations with law enforcement, so they can stay here in the Tower. Tony, maybe you could look into removing those videos from the internet.”

Tony grimaced, but said, “Pretty sure that won’t be possible. But if Hill’s proof is legit, I’ll do what I can.”

Steve went on. “Natasha, I want you to wait a few hours, then see what kind of contact you can make. Tony, give her access to the security feed so she can prepare, and make sure she gets a copy of Jarvis’ dossier of personnel.”

After a moment’s thought, he added, “Clint, you too. I want you both to study every piece of footage we have of them so far, including the security feed in the Tower, and anything you can get of them during the job. Get a picture of their behaviours, their skills, their relationship with each other, anything that seems relevant. Look for signs of coercion and conditioning, too, and make sure you look out for any suspicious activity, and make sure we haven’t brought a couple of trojan horses back into the Tower with us.”

Natasha nodded, and Clint said, “Aye aye, Cap.” Outwardly, he seemed bored, but Steve knew not to take that at face value.

Steve hesitated, then said, “Bruce, do you think you can review the medical files? Don’t watch the videos if you can’t manage it, but we need to know what kind of enhancements have been made and how stable they are physically. If they’re going to require medical intervention or ongoing medication, we need to know.”

Bruce nodded his head. “I’ll make a report on whatever I find out, and make some recommendations if I can.”

“That’d be great,” Steve replied. “Tony and Jarvis, you’re on data and FBI monitoring, like we’ve already talked about. Sam, if you want to sit in with Natasha and Clint, that might be helpful.”

“And I’m going to go and talk to Bucky,” Steve finished. “Alright, everyone, we’re done. Dismissed.

Steve took one last look at the feed on the monitor, taking in the frown on Bucky’s face, and quickly left the room.


End file.
